Unblocked
by ultimateform14
Summary: Catherine and Greg are uncovering new layers to the case of Archibald Gracie, a man whose corpse was discovered in the ventilation shaft by a distraught housekeeper. Lady Heather disappears in the process of lending a hand, putting Grissom frantically on her trail. And all the while, Sara tries to determine the nature of her feelings in the wake of Nick's arrest...
1. Alright

**The follow-up to _Obstruction_. It ended up being a two-parter, after all! I shortened it up, a little bit. There were certain details in the original draft I didn't think were really necessary...**

* * *

In his years working at the LVPD, Nick had never noticed before he was arrested how cold it was. Not that he hadn't expected the holding cells to be cold... Or maybe it was just his wriggling, fleeting feelings on the situation at hand... Yeah, that had to be it. Right...?

He turned over on his side and stared at the bottom of the door – something he'd been doing a lot since he'd been put in here – with a sigh. Underneath that door... just visible through the crack... was a sliver of hope: bright light coming in and scattering like rats fleeing their overturned nest. The light reminded Nick of the outside world. Which reminded him of what he was hoping for. Praying for...

There was a noise outside the door that made him jump. Somebody yelled something, and it must have been close. The echoes were too garbled for him to make out. Like a cartoon, he scratched the inside of his ear with his pinky finger. Suddenly, an officers' voice replied – albeit much calmer – and then came another voice. One that sounded familiar.

"Where is he?"

Nick sat up straight and stared hard at the bottom of the door. Sara...?

"This one, Miss Sidle."

"Miss Sidle", he'd said... It WAS Sara.

Suddenly, he felt panicky. Sara was coming, and he looked terrible. His eyes had finally dried up when he'd quit crying (thankfully, the worst of it had been AFTER the cell door was locked behind him), but his face was still red. His hair was short, but it was still kind of messy – licking his fingers, he tried straightening it out a bit as the clicking footsteps came closer.

Then he tried to think of a good position to be in when the door opened. Curled up on his side didn't look good, did it...? His team didn't need to see him like that anymore... They had enough on their plates, and worrying about him was one of the last things they should have to do.

Especially Sara... whom Brass had told him was having a very hard time with this. He couldn't help smiling with anticipation when the jingling keys got louder, and the door began to swing open...

The officer smiled, as well... and stepped aside with a hands-out gesture of welcoming.

Then came Sara. Rounding the corner, Nick was struck dumb for a moment by the sight of her. She was wearing a dark red sweater and several bracelets around her wrists. Her shoes seemed different... Flashy-looking, almost. They glistened in the sunlight. Which was still quite bright, even though Nick felt like he'd been lying in the cell for a lifetime... It must always feel like that, he supposed...

Sara sighed, and beamed brighter than the light falling through her straight, dark red hair. "Nick..."

Suddenly, everything felt brighter. Nick released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and crossed the room in two strides to scoop her up off her feet...

It felt like the life was being squeezed out of her at first, but she didn't want him to let go. And she certainly didn't hold back, herself: her own arms had gone around his neck and clamped down as if they were determined to break it – something she realized she didn't want, and loosened up a bit.

She let her head fall onto his shoulder, while he spun her in circles. She felt like a young child, reunited with a lost friend.

Or maybe more... Since cleaning out Grissom's desk with him, the nagging thoughts about everything they'd discussed... everything Grissom had implied... were still running circles through her head. And they were starting to effect her behavior, too – she, herself hadn't noticed, for example, that she'd dressed up a bit more with some of the nicer clothes from her locker until she was already on her way to see Nicky.

A sob made it out of her chest, and shook the both of them right around the moment he stopped turning and just held her up against him. Like he'd done when they went star watching, and she'd fallen asleep on him.

She soon realized she was crying. Not bawling, but crying.

And he was stroking the back of her head. "Sara..." he said in a weak voice. "Brass told me you were having a hard time." He set her down, and leaned back to observe her.

She felt self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

She didn't know what to say, didn't know why she was even having to think about it so hard. She just shook her head, frantically at first. "Don't worry about me," she eventually got out. "Tell me about you."

They took a seat on the edge of the bed, in synchronization. Sara took his hand and just let it sit there, on her leg, under her own.

"I'm alright," said Nick.

His cavalier shrug sent a shock through her that eventually became a sharp breath. And she shook her head again. "No, Nick. You're not."

He inclined his head to the side. "Whadda ya mean?"

"I mean, look at this..." She gestured around at the cell, and the distaste was apparent in her voice. "This isn't 'alright'. This isn't even close." She sighed, and caressed the edge of his hand with her thumb. "This isn't where you should be..."

She looked up and saw that his lower lip was quivering. She brushed it once with her thumb.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Nick," she continued. "You saved a woman's life. From a psychopath with a knife."

He looked down. "I know..."

"And you shouldn't be locked up for it!" said Sara, standing up suddenly and walking in circles. "This isn't right..."

For a moment, she was afraid that she might have an anxiety attack. With all these new questions about Nick weighing on her mind, she hadn't even thought much about the moral problems with the situation he was in. She was certain (or trying to make herself, anyway) that those problems, alone, would be enough to justify her reaction to all of this.

She stopped circling, and observed his defeated-looking form with a renewed sadness. Why did she really come here?

Nick suddenly looked up, and the expression on his face reminded Sara of a little kid who had just figured something out in school for the first time.

"It's the law," he said.

_As if that makes it all better..._ Sara thought.

She shook her head and sat back down next to him. Either something in her face or her hand taking his again must've made him feel ashamed. He drooped his head again...

She lifted it back up with two fingers. For some reason, seeing him like this also made her feel stronger. "That doesn't make it right, Nick."

He took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah... I know it doesn't always, but... what else can I do? You know, I just-I..." He hunched forward, and buried his face in his hands. His head shook back and forth.

Whatever the conviction and the excitement from before, it was melting away now. Sara's eyes brimmed, and she snaked her arms underneath his.

His face fell onto her shoulder when he returned her warm embrace.

"Nicky..." was all she could say...

...Then she felt him smiling, his face pressed into her skin.

And she was unable to keep a small grin from forming on her own face. "What?" she asked.

"I like that," he replied, a slight giggle in his voice. "It irritates me sometimes when people call me 'Nicky', but I like it when you call me 'Nicky'."

He shook a bit in her arms, but she was glad to see it was with quiet laughter, this time. She didn't even want to try to stop herself from giggling with him.

"I'll try to remember that, then," she said.

He raised his head, and they laughed together for a few more minutes about it.

When they stopped, his hands came up to her shoulder, and he affixed her with a very serious gaze.

"You don't worry so much about me," he said sternly. "You look tired..."

She felt his thumb stroking her chin. She closed her eyes...

"You go home and get some sleep..."

Automatically, she shook her head.

"Sara–"

"No." She stamped her foot. "No... I'll go home when you take me."

She opened her eyes up again to see that he was slowly, slightly shaking his own head back and forth. "So stubborn... You should take better care of yourself. We need you."

She looked to the side and inclined her head once. "Yeah. Well..."

"For me?" he tried.

She looked back. Her eyes swept up and down him. "For you. Sure... But you still have to be the one to take me."

Whatever it was he was about to say, his expression had softened. Like he was about to try and break bad news to her calmly. Sara was torn between being glad that she didn't have to hear it, but sad that she would have to leave him when the door opened to their side, and the officer poked his head in.

"Miss Sidle?"

She did not have the strength to smile. Not even formally... "Yeah. Coming. Sorry."

Nick stood with her, and they turned into each other automatically.

Their eyes locked, and Sara had a horrible feeling. Like a deep corner of her mind had chosen this most inconvenient of times to remind her: this might be one of the last few times she'd ever see him. The thought brought her trembles back.

The way he was slowly losing control of his own steadiness looked like he was thinking the same thing. They embraced each other at the same time.

"Come see me again, okay?" he said. "Soon...?"

When she blinked, she held her lids shut for a few seconds longer than necessary against his chest. "Yes," she reassured. "As soon as I can."

She pulled back, and he felt her warmth disappear like a lone drop of water running off his skin. His fists clenched by themselves.

When she walked to the door... and her form became more silhouetted by the sunlight... he smiled to her when she looked back at him. He couldn't tell through the lighting if she was smiling back, or just looking at him out of concern.

He hoped for the former, but then she was gone. And wondering about it started to drive him immediately crazy, as he laid back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling...

Until a slight movement of his head caught the light coming in through the bottom of the door in the corner of his eye. He returned to his original position and watched it longingly.

If he closed his eyes... and held the shirt of his jumpsuit up by his nose... he could still smell Sara there... and imagine her feet in the light on the other side of the door.


	2. Not Done Yet

When Catherine stepped through the door, Mrs. Gracie's expression was cautiously friendly – something Catherine wasn't sure was reflected on her own face. As she crossed the room and pulled the chair back from the table enough for her to sit down, in fact... she felt her entire body intensifying. She knew something was going on. Something more than Mrs. Gracie had told them. Catherine didn't appreciate being lied to, and the falsely-surprised expression on Mrs. Gracie's face was adding to her irritation with each passing moment.

"Hello, Mrs. Gracie," she tried to sound friendly enough.

"Ms. Willows," greeted the woman. "I understand you have some more questions for me?"

"We do, actually." Catherine shifted the different papers around in her hand, looking for the DNA results. "Now, if you remember, you submitted your luggage for testing?"

"That's right," Mrs. Gracie nodded, and her plastic smile came back in force. "Thoroughness."

Catherine's answering smile was far less plastic. Especially since it was directed at the table. "That's right. And we really appreciated that–" and here she looked up, "–because we found some interesting DNA on it."

Mrs. Gracie's eyebrows crinkled together.

"All male DNA, to be specific," finished Catherine. She turned her head to the side. "You want to tell us about that?"

"Who-whose DNA?" asked Mrs. Gracie.

Catherine thumbed through the stack of papers again, silently for a moment. "If I understand it, the name was Greg?" She peeked upwards to gauge Mrs. Gracie's reaction. "The CEO?"

Mrs. Gracie shrugged.

Catherine's eyes narrowed, growing more and more annoyed by the charade. "Of your husband's company, Mrs. Gracie. Crest toothpaste. Not exactly an obscure detail."

For a moment, Mrs. Gracie said nothing. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around herself, while Catherine slid the photo of the DNA results forward.

Mrs. Gracie leaned over it, and examined the page for a few seconds. "Greg, oh, Greg..." was all she said at first.

She rose from her seat, and rubbed her forehead with one hand. With the other, she took a drink from the glass of water sitting there for her. Catherine waited with waning patience.

At last, Mrs. Gracie set the glass back down, but began to pace. "Ms. Willows... are you a mother?"

Catherine blinked a couple of times. What? "Yes..." she answered warily.

"And, you were married, then?"

"...Yes."

"Then, you know what it's like, don't you?" Mrs. Gracie stopped pacing. The look she affixed Catherine with was weary and tired. "To live with a husband. Day after day, he comes home from work. Day after day, it's all about what he did at work. What he and his co-workers do." She looked away and nodded her head. "Was your husband a higher-up? Was he important where he worked?"

"Eddie?" responded Catherine incredulously. "No. God, no. Absolutely not."

"Well, then... that part makes it worse." Mrs. Gracie returned to her seat. "Their whole lives are for their corporation. It's all they think about, all they talk about... day and night. It's all about what the boss said, what the rumors are, what office gossip is making the rounds... Endless. Day and night."

In the pause that followed, Catherine blinked prominently a few more times. "Mrs... Gracie, I... still don't see what that has to do with you lying to us. You said you were vacationing with your sisters. But your husband's boss' DNA ends up all over your luggage."

Mrs. Gracie sighed in defeat. "I was having an affair. With Greg."

Catherine leaned back and folded her arms. "Uh huh..."

"I was. I really was," said Mrs. Gracie. She took another drink. "Greg and I met at one of... well, several formal functions, you see. Because that's another part of being married to a corporate man: the duty rounds.

"But I met Greg at a Christmas party... And, ironically, it was also at a Christmas party that, we... we began our affair, later on."

She stopped, and Catherine softened a bit to see the lone tear coming down her cheek.

"Archibald was... not a saint, himself," Mrs. Gracie continued. "I decided to have an affair, because... I saw him with another woman who works for Crest." She sniffled. "I saw him, by the punch. He was standing there, and his arms were around her, and... he kissed her."

Catherine sighed. _Of course..._

"I had been attracted to Greg for... well, at that point, it had been literally years. But I was a good wife, if nothing else. I wasn't going to act on it. Until I saw that..."

She ducked her head.

Catherine thought back to her conversation with Brass just a few minutes ago.

_"Hey, Catherine." He stepped out in front of her with a cautionary arm. "I've got something for you."_

_ Catherine stopped and looked at him expectantly._

_ "I just wanted you to know, I had a bad feeling about this case. I did some undercover work." He looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody had heard him._

_ "You?" asked Catherine with a grin. "You did some undercover work, Jim?"_

_ "Don't look so surprised," bantered Brass. "But, anyway... I went to Crest. I spoke with the secretary: Claire, it was written on her name tag. Told him I was a friend of 'Archie's'," he went on with an air quote. "Anyway, she told me all kinds of stuff. Stuff you might want to know before you interview this woman again."_

_ Now Catherine was genuinely intrigued. "Stuff like what?"_

_ "Like that the Crest CEO, Greg, was out of town at the same time as Ginger Gracie."_

_ Catherine shook her head, and ran her hands tiredly over her face and through her hair. "Yes. Yes, that's consistent with our findings."_

_ "Oh, really?" asked Brass. "What'd you find?"_

_ "The DNA on her suitcases?"_

_ "Mm hmm."_

_ "All male."_

_ Brass stared._

_ "Yeah. All a match to the Crest CEO."_

_ They both looked to the interrogation room behind Brass. There was no one else in the halls but them. For once, it was completely silent in the LVPD HQ, save for the hum of the vents._

_ "Then she lied to me about that, too. Unless he lied to her..."_

_ "What do you mean?" asked Catherine._

_ "Well, Claire told me that her boss had gone to another Crest building, somewhere else in the country," replied Brass._

_ "You're right," said Catherine. "He could've lied to her. But she could've lied to you, too."_

_ "Mm hmm," agreed Brass. "I think I might want to go back there, and... tell her the whole truth."_

"Mrs. Gracie... I know this isn't an easy thing to discuss, but..." her eyes scanned over Ginger's form, "...could you tell us who the woman was? Did you know her?"

"Oh, yes, of course I did." Mrs. Gracie reached into her purse and withdrew a small travel packet of Kleenex. "She's been with the company for years. Claire, is her name. She's Greg's secretary. She's been covering for us, quite a while." A smile that one could probably call "savage" without too much of a stretch of the truth lit up Mrs. Gracie's facial features. "I don't think she knows everything that's happening, you know... I don't think she knows that I know it was her. Archibald was a bad liar, he couldn't keep a secret to save his life. Or his marriage..." Mrs. Gracie explained. "He, of course, told me about the kiss. The encounter, more like. He never told me it was her..." She grinned up at Catherine suddenly. "It's... well, quite satisfying, to tell you the truth. Greg is preferable to Archie in MANY different ways, you see – having Archie in the dark... and his little whore is the one explaining away Greg's long absences..."

Catherine took a deep breath. _Enough to motivate you to kill him, Mrs. Gracie?_

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Heather." Lynn Gracie smiled, and left a wet kiss on Lady Heather's cheek. "It was so long overdue."

"I agree," answered Lady Heather with a return smile that barely concealed her frustration. "Let's do this again. Sometime soon?"

"Most definitely, darling."

And with that, Lynn closed the door.

Leaving Lady Heather to stare at it, stoney faced through and through.

Nothing. She had learned absolutely nothing. After an hour of drinking tea, eating horribly undercooked cookies with way too much sugar in them (and she was already digging in her purse for an insulin injection), and listening to stories of book clubs and elder's nights out, there was absolutely nothing of any worth to be gleaned from any of it. Grissom would NOT be happy.

As she began to apply her gloves and head down the steps, Lady Heather reflected on the one question she had gotten to ask about Frank.

_"So... how has he been?" She looked up with a formal smile. "Frank, I mean."_

_ "Oh, you know, this and that," answered Mrs. Gracie Senior. "He's been working hard lately. He got a job at Crest. The toothpaste?"_

_ "Ah," commented Lady Heather simply. "And that's working well for him, I assume..."_

_ "I don't know, for sure. He's never really around here, anymore. Those business types, they have no time for their families."_

_ "Yes..." mused Lady Heather. "They tend to forget what's really important."_

_ Mrs. Gracie Senior took a seat opposite Lady Heather at her ancient-looking table. "Well, that depends on who you ask, doesn't it? Perhaps, this is what's most important to Frank."_

_ It took Lady Heather a moment to realize she was glaring over her nose at Lynn. It wouldn't do any good to enter into this discussion with an almost-ninety-year-old-woman._

_ So she straightened up and smiled again. "I understand."_

_ "Tell me, how is it going with Zoe?"_

_ Lady Heather sniffed once, and looked down at her tea. Which she had stirred unceasingly for five minutes well past the point of mixing in her lemon juice. "Zoe's doing very well, thank you..."_

_ What was the point in telling of her daughter's death? Lynn had nothing else in life..._

_ "You tell her, grandma wants to see her again soon, now," pressed Lynn, wagging a finger in a manner that so many her age did._

_ It brought a more genuine smile to Lady Heather's face. "I'll do that, Lynn. I promise..."_

_ Mrs. Gracie Senior got up. "Excellent. Would you like some more tea?"_

_ "Oh, please..."_

_ While she headed for the stove with more speed and strength than she probably should have had at her age, Lady Heather sighed, and drained the entire glass of tea she still down her throat. Still, she couldn't resist the endearment she felt._

I hope this is me when I'm ninety..._ she thought, heartfelt._

She came to her car, and shivered with the blowing wind...

It was also that wind that carried a smell into her nostrils. A smell that alerted her she wasn't alone. She looked up in time to see a fist winding back.

But not to duck beneath it, as it flew forward.

"UGH!" she grunted, and fell backward.

When she looked in her attacker's direction, she could see that he was a man in a very long, tan coat. His face was rough with stubble on his somewhat-wrinkled skin. There were large, unattractive sunglasses covering his eyes. His teeth were gritted, his arm reaching out in her direction again...

She lifted a foot up, catching him in the knee.

"OUCH!" he called out, in a deep voice. "Damn it!"

She had turned and begun to regain her feet. There was a larger street with busy cars just down the dreary, residential road. If she could make it...

A weight collided with her back, throwing her forward. The grass was soft, and they skidded right into a pile of leaves. Rough hands forced her to roll over, and another blow was delivered to the side of her head.

She weakly resisted the force pulling her upward. It felt like a daze, now, the way she was moving...

A car door opened, but the car was not her own. This much she could tell from how close she was.

But she wasn't done yet.

She elbowed him in the gut, and spun around to face him. He was clutching his stomach, and hissing in pain. The drops of his saliva were gumming up the front of her coat. Her eyes widened as the plan came together.

He stood and gritted his teeth. Bearing down on her, he began to push her into the car with the sheer size of him.

She slammed a foot down on his, then lashed out and grabbed his cheek. His mouth flew open instinctively with the new object entering it.

The more she could get in...

_Got it!_ With her left hand, she swung... and with the strength she felt she was regaining, she ducked beneath his arm as it came up to his face. When she was clear of him, she thought for a moment she might be able to actually make it to a house...

But when the assailant came slamming down on her again, she reverted to plan A. He tugged on the back of her coat, but she didn't fight him. She was too busy removing her glove...

She felt herself hoisted over his shoulder, and could only be grateful she was still facing the pile of leaves he had just lifted her from. Facing away from him, so he couldn't see what she was doing with her hands.

She dropped both her gloves beside it, and stared at it as he carried her – ignoring her kicking – and threw her into the back seat of the car.

She hoped he would just try to lock the door and go around to the front seat with a key. She could make a run for it from there.

But the last thing she remembered before the third blow rendered her unconscious was seeing her purse and belongings scattered all over the yard of whoever lived next door to Mrs. Gracie Senior...

Then, there was blackness – increasing in its velocity as it covered her eyes – and the sound of a car starting, what felt like not even a second later...


	3. A Clue Somewhere

"Well, how could I not see THAT one coming?!" exclaimed Catherine.

She threw the folder containing the case notes down on the table by Greg, who looked like he was about to tear his never-stylish hair out.

"An affair," continued Catherine. "Of course, she was having an affair! It all makes perfect sense!"

Greg sighed, and let his tired face disappear into his hands.

Catherine surveyed him carefully, and was momentarily very proud of him. This was his first true double-shift. He really was doing a good job of keeping it together. She smiled on one side of her equally-as-worn-out face...

"Yes, it does," said Greg. "Well, sort of..."

"What do you mean?"

"She goes for this 'vacation', right? She tells us its with her sisters, but... why lie about it?"

Catherine jutted a lip out. "Trying to protect her reputation? Or her boyfriend's?"

"Yes, but she was so broken up – or at least, it seemed that way – when she was at the scene. She must've still felt SOMETHING for this guy. You know, the one she was married to...?"

Catherine nodded. Indeed, if Mrs. Gracie wasn't all that happy in her marriage, not only was it beyond Catherine why she would stay with Archibald when the kids were all grown up, but... why not just come out and say it? He was dead, wasn't he?

Unless... "What if she had him killed?"

"Yeah," confirmed Greg. "Exactly what I was thinking. Maybe that's why she and the good ol' CEO decided to take a trip right NOW. Getting out of town–"

"–creates less suspicion," finished Catherine.

"Exactly," said Greg again.

Catherine sighed, and looked down at the evidence table. Everything was there – all three or four items of evidence that would be any good. The luggage pile in the corner was thoroughly tested and re-tested over and over... There was nothing more to gather. Just the epithelial DNA from Greg at Crest.

She chucked her pen lightly across the table. If they didn't catch a break soon... there'd be nothing more to go on.

* * *

Grissom drug his eraser wearily along the paper that made up the crossword puzzle he was tackling. It was quite a large one, and he'd been working on it off and on for a period of a few days. In between easier ones...

"Grissom?"

He looked up. It was Sara, and she looked fairly fancy in... whatever she was wearing.

"Hi, Sara," he sighed, and pulled his glasses off. "How's Nick?"

She shrugged. "He seemed... fine. A bit more fine than I thought he'd be."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..." But she stopped there.

The way she wasn't looking at him – coupled with the set of her jaw, and the way her arms snaked together into a bow around her stomach – made him aware that there was more she wanted to say. But pressing Sara hardly ever seemed to do any good.

So he indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat. We can pass the time. Still waiting on Heather..."

Sara's eyebrows furrowed. "She's not back yet?"

Grissom shook his head and wiped his glasses off on his shirt tail. "No."

"Well, do we know where this woman lived?" Sara accepted Grissom's offer, and took a seat in the chair right in front of him.

"Yes. I found this sticky note in the desk drawer." He shoved the upside-down, yellow note across.

Sara turned it over and examined it for a moment. On it was written exactly what he'd said there would be.

She also sighed, and slid it back to him. "Maybe we should go and have a look?" she suggested.

"Well, I should, perhaps. In a little while, if nothing else comes up. You stay here, and watch out for Nick, though," he warned, suddenly. "You're still off the clock." What part of that wasn't she getting?

"Yeah... I know. And I wouldn't leave Nicky, anyway. So, don't worry about it."

"Mmm. And speaking of, how'd it go? Visiting with him, I mean?"

"Oh, it was fine," she replied. She leaned back and folded her legs. "He was pretty optimistic. Or, well... you could call it that."

When she didn't elaborate further, "But, would I?"

Her eyes moved up. "I don't know. I don't know what you'd call it." Then back down. "But I know what I would..."

"Sara," pressed Grissom. "The suspense is killing me. What's going on with Nick?"

"Nothing," she insisted. "He's just... well, he's just way too okay with this. You know? He acts like – just because there's nothing he can do about it – he shouldn't be pissed off about it. It drives me crazy, because anyone stuck where he is should be really, really pissed off! He saved a woman!"

"Yes. But, Sara, he's right about one thing: there ISN'T anything he can do about this. And the more cooperative he is, the better the chance that WE can do something about it FOR him."

She halted. "Well..." she finally said. "Yeah, I suppose. I just hope... everything turns out..."

His lip twitched – she was being casual. "We all do. I'd think you'd be especially interested, though."

"Well, I am," she answered. "Why?"

"I don't know. It just seemed like... you weren't being honest, there, for a moment."

"Maybe I wasn't," she allowed. "I don't know."

Silence fell. Grissom watched her, looked her up and down. She really was a nervous wreck. She was picking at the arm of the chair she was sitting in. Her leg was bouncing. The muscles in her neck were jutting out, like she was tensing them. Her face was worn down-looking. And she was watching herself pick away at the leather in the seat.

"Sara. Relax."

She nodded, but nothing in her actions changed.

He shook his head, and reapplied his glasses. The crosswords were waiting...

* * *

"Hey!"

Catherine jumped, and banged her head on the wall behind her.

It was Brass, and he was looking in with a sympathetic smile. That quickly faded to excitement when Catherine squinted, as if to confirm it was him.

"I've got her. Claire. The secretary."

Catherine looked around, groggily. Had she fallen asleep?

"She said she'd be fine with coming in and answering some questions. I figured you two would have some for her, too."

"That's excellent!" came Greg's voice, from what seemed like it was far away. "Is she here?"

"Here and waiting," confirmed Brass.

Catherine rubbed her eyes. "Oh... great news! Well done, Jim..." And she yawned.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Okay, sure." He turned and exited.

Catherine sighed as soon as the door shut behind him. She shook her head with embarrassment. "How long was I out?" she asked of Greg.

"Oh, about fifteen minutes."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You're fascinating when you sleep."

At this, she looked over with some concern. "You watch me sleep?"

"No," he replied defensively. "Just this time."

Catherine's eyes widened a bit. "What, do I talk in my sleep?"

"Oh, no," reassured Greg.

And then: "You snore."

She snapped her head back towards him. "What? I do not!"

"Oh, yes, you do," he said. There was a devilish grin spreading across his face. "I'm telling you, I just heard it."

"Greg, come on. Be serious."

"I am completely, one-hundred-percent serious. You, Catherine Willows, are a snorer."

She narrowed her eyes.

"But, hey, back to the case," he then said with some urgency.

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

"So, do you want to question the secretary."

She considered. "Mmm... No. I actually think I'd like to see the crime scene. I haven't been to it, yet."

"Oh!" said Greg with the sudden realization. "That's true. You might want to check it out. See what we missed."

"Ah, Greg, give yourself a break." She scooted down from the seat. "You probably didn't miss anything. But I want to see it, all the same. You go with Brass." She pointed towards the door. "Interview the secretary. See if you pick anything else useful up from her."

"Alrighty, then."

* * *

Eagerly, Greg scooped the folder up. "I'll see you when you get back. You want me to call with the information?"

"Only if there's something really, really interesting."

"Okay, then. Later."

"Later, Greg," she answered with a smile.

And with that, Greg stepped past her into the hall. He'd never say it out loud, but sometimes Catherine made him more nervous than Grissom. Maybe it was the opposite sex factor... Truth be told, the person he'd wanted to ask about it was Nick. _Someday in the far future_, he admitted to himself. _Rather he's in prison or not._

Brass was waiting, still clearly excited, when Greg came.

"Catherine coming?" asked Brass.

"No, she's, uh... going to see the crime scene."

"Oh! Alright, sounds good. Scene hasn't been released yet, so..."

"Yeah, and she hasn't seen it since Grissom put her on it after... well..."

Brass looked to the floor for a moment. "Yep. After..." And he shook his head. "Come on, then. Let's get this on."

Greg couldn't have agreed more through his yawning. The thought of his bed at home was getting harder and harder to chase from his mind as the time went on...

Brass opened the door and held it for Greg. The two entered to find the secretary looking around the room with what Greg could only describe as "disinterest".

_Great. This is going to be a fanTASTIC interview_, he groaned in his mind. "Claire?"

She looked up. "That's me."

"My name is Greg Sanders. I'm with the crime lab. Thank you for coming in."

She sighed, and shook her head in a "whatever" gesture. "Sure," she said. "If it helps."

"It does," said Greg. "Immensely." He slid into one seat, with Brass in the other. "Now, just to clarify, you are the personal and professional secretary to the Crest CEO?"

"Yes."

"You worked for Greg?"

"You got it."

"And... you were having an affair with Archibald Gracie?" interjected Brass.

It looked like some life had finally been injected into Claire. She sat up straight and stared like she'd just seen them knock over an old lady. "What?"

"Well, word on the street is, the two of you were hooking up."

Claire leaned on one hand. "Who told you that?"

"That's a matter of confidentiality."

She didn't buy that. "Uh huh. Where's Ginger?"

Brass and Greg exchanged glances. "What?"

"Ginger. Ginger Gracie. His wife, where is she?"

"What makes you say that?" asked Greg in false innocence.

Claire rolled her eyes. "Because, since a few years back, I've been taking a lot of crap from my co-workers about 'sleeping with a married man'." She air-quoted, in a very unprofessional manner, given her business-woman outfit and her wavy, light blonde retro hair-do. "Ginger had a fit when she saw Archie and me talking. She got all freaked out and accused of us doing more than we were really doing."

Brass threw a hand up.

But Greg leaned a little closer in Claire's direction. "So, you weren't kissing Mr. Gracie, then? And Mrs. Gracie had a fit, you say... See, 'cause she says that she went into the next room... and started something up with your boss." He tapped the picture hanging out of the folder. "Greg."

"That's a lie," insisted Claire, immediately. "Greg's never done anything with her."

"Is that so?" pressed Brass. "'Cause according to her, you've known about their affair for a while. Been covering up for them, even. Like, maybe, what you told me when we first met?"

"No. Like I said, he went to another building. Crest is a huge company. We have multiple warehouses and factories, not just one here. He's a busy man."

"Care to explain how his DNA ended up all over Ginger Gracie's suitcases, then?" asked Greg. _All five million of them..._

"How am I supposed to know that? I don't keep track of where he goes. Maybe he was lying to ME!"

At this, neither Greg nor Brass had anything to say.

* * *

The door swung open, and the musty smell hit Catherine like a bowling ball to the head.

_Ouch_, she thought, as the odd nature of her painful analogy came to her.

But it was true: the place smelled bad. Her face scrunched as she crossed the threshold into the Gracie's apartment. There was still police tape across the door, but otherwise, nothing else. She set her kit down and took a good look around.

It was a VERY good-looking apartment. Bright, she was sure, when it hadn't been left unattended to. Well-colored, well-decorated... Nothing to suggest such an unhappy marriage. But then... whatever DID? Many marriages were in bad shape, but unaddressed, and unnoticed by the people around them.

Still, it was the fact that the Gracies' marriage had been so bad that Catherine tried to keep in mind while she opened her kit to apply gloves – the perspective might help. Where to start first? The living room seemed like the most logical place, but she was fairly confident Greg and Warrick had already covered those areas pretty thoroughly. She knew her nagging mind would get the better of her, eventually, but she figured she'd at least start somewhere away from the main scene. So she headed for the kitchen.

Where – surprise, surprise – there turned out to be nothing. The bedroom, maybe?

Nope. Perhaps the bathroom...

Nothing there, either.

With an hour passed, she was red in the face and breathing heavily. This case was now officially starting to piss her off.

She almost forgot to check the living room. She wouldn't have, either... if she hadn't been on her way out and stopped to admire the way the light came through the window and fell on the vases next to the couch. There were pink flowers – real or not, she couldn't tell – sitting in one of those vases. The sun's rays were coming through them like a stain glass window. It was the discoloration they were creating on the couch that caught Catherine's attention. And then, when she stepped back, she could see that the cushion the discoloration was on was of a darker shade...

Desperate for something to build on, Catherine slammed her kit back to the floor with haste. Thankfully, there was another pair of gloves, and one more integri-swab left. She blew her up at bangs to try to get them out of her eye while she removed her spray bottle. Latent fluids seemed like a fair possibility...

It was also one that panned out. The dried liquid changed color – an interesting shade, beneath the light coming through the pink flowers – and that was it.

Catherine lifted her goggles and shook her head in some surprise. Why did she recognize this color...?

_Ejaculate?_

* * *

Sara jumped slightly when Grissom's keys came down on his desk. He'd left an hour ago to meet with Lady Heather "in all their usual places," as he'd put it.

Apparently, he'd come back with nothing, though. And there was an evident frustration in his voice he rarely displayed. Sara never liked it when he was like this. It always made her feel that much worse about whatever was going on that had driven him to that point.

"No luck?" she tried, anyway.

He ran his hands through his hair, one after the other. "No."

She exhaled sharply, and let her eyes roam across his desk. Maybe something would jump out at her.

"The sticky note," she said, suddenly. "The sticky note! You forgot the sticky note!"

Grissom stopped, and looked back down at his desk. He reached down and peeled it off.

"Maybe it's just... a long visit," suggested Sara, hopefully.

"Maybe so," Grissom grasped at that. "Hold on. I'll be back, just stay here."

And he was already heading out the door.

"Where else am I going... to..." she looked around, and rolled her eyes. "...Go," she finished with an annoyed exhalation.

* * *

_GPSs are a pain in the ass._

Grissom's said something to him in a voice he could barely understand. He had adjusted the volume over and over, but figured he probably needed to change the voice, overall.

Nevertheless, it got him to where he needed to go, eventually. And he soon found himself climbing out of the side of his vehicle with a mild groan of annoyance. This was the right place, it looked like. He double-checked the sticky note, and looked back on the GPS. Yes, this was it. He approached the door, hoping he looked casual enough about it while doing so.

His shoes clicked on the porch with each footfall. Something about noises bothered him. Noises like these, anyway. He smiled, because he remembered both Nick and Catherine once saying something to that effect at lunch... That was before either Greg or Warrick. And WELL before Sara...

He raised a hand to knock, but paused first and took a deep breath. _Here we go..._ And then he rapped his knuckles on it.

The door was answered surprisingly quickly for such a large house, with such an older lady that came to it. She had a friendly smile, to be sure, and a kindly demeanor. Grissom immediately felt warmed to her.

"Hi," he greeted. "My name is Gil Grissom. I'm, uh... I'm with the Las Vegas crime lab. I understand that a friend of mine – a Heather Kessler – is here to see you?"

"Oh... yes! Yes, she was here just a little while ago. She left a little while ago, as well. Er... you said, uh... 'crime lab'... Is something wrong?"

"I sincerely hope not, ma'am," replied Grissom. "We just haven't heard from her in a while, and she was scheduled to meet with us back at the police department." And then – seeing her confused, slightly-frightened reaction – added, "Just catching up. As I said, she's a good friend."

"Oh... Well, she left here a while ago." Mrs. Gracie Senior smiled. "She was here to visit me, as well. We had some tea and cookies. She left after a bit. But..." she reached around and picked something up, "she dropped her purse. Must not have noticed it."

She handed it to a slightly-apprehensive Grissom. Even from the outside, he could feel more than see his face spasming slightly. But, best not to frighten or upset the nice old lady. "I'm sure she'll turn up," he said, a second later than he should have.

"Oh, if you're a good friend of Heather's, you know how she comes and goes as she pleases... But you just go ahead and give that back to her."

"Mmm," agreed Grissom. "Yes... I've been meaning to talk to her about that, actually. Her leaving all the time, I mean..."

"Let me know if you get anywhere, Mr. Grissom."

"I surely will." And he grinned in farewell. "Thank you very much, ma'am."

"You're welcome."

After the door closed, Grissom tugged on his shirt – an odd form of stress relief he'd discovered as far back as his teenaged years – and turned to head back to his car with momentarily closed eyelids. The wind was blowing, and the breeze was creating the uncomfortable feeling of being warm, for the most part... but cold where all the skin showed. Underneath his warm coat, it was only his neck that was getting it. At least the sun was out...

He headed down the stairs towards his car with confusion, and an increasing sense of panic. This was surely not part of Lady Heather's plan. Leaving her purse... Unless she'd discovered something really dangerous, and was just waiting for him to pick up on something.

He was almost to his car when he realized he must've been right. Perhaps, something had happened. When he stopped to think about it, in detail, he was certain that must be it.

He removed his sunglasses. There had to be a clue... something left behind by Lady Heather, somewhere... that would help him figure out what happened.

As always, the realization that a situation he was in was no longer ordinary activated something that Warrick used to joke was the "Grissom Sense". Suddenly, he started to see it like a "scene", not just a location or an environment.

Beneath him, for example, the leaves jumped out to him in a new light. There were crunches in them, and they crumbled in a frantic, totally random pattern. He squinted – one set of footprints in the leaves was significantly larger, and there was a larger distance between the two. The smaller set was in between, and it seemed to be the most scattered.

He followed the prints away, where they became visible hand prints – scratch marks, palm marks, wrist marks... Someone had dragged her? Assuming it was Lady Heather...

If only there was DNA...

It was then that he spotted the glove.

A purple, shining glove laying on the leaves. Glinting in the sunlight coming through the clouds.

Grissom strode over to it with determination, grateful he was wearing his own gloves. He bent over and snapped it up from the pile of leaves...

...splashing himself on the cheek with a very present and very thick saliva sample, as he did so.

"UGH!" he groaned.


	4. Bad Habit Exposed

There was a mild shaking at her shoulders. She tried to dismiss it with a wave of her hand. Or, at least, she thought she waved her hand. Maybe that was just in her dream...

"Sara?"

That distorted, distant voice sounded familiar... Someone she worked with. Was it Grissom? No, it must be Catherine...

"Sara, wake up."

No, no, no... That was Doc.

And sure enough, when she opened her eyes, that was who was waiting for her. Immediately, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight – it appeared to be getting dimmer, at least, but it was still bright out. How long had she been here?

...Wait, where was she, to start out with?

"Sara?"

She sat up slowly, and looked to each side of her for him. He was on her right. She smiled. "Hi, Doc. How's it going?"

Doc slid a stool sitting beside him over. "Don't ask about me. How are YOU doing?"

She pondered this for a moment. How WAS she doing...? In the last unknown number of hours (although, she was sure she'd have a vague idea, if she just thought about it), she felt like she'd been drug through the ringer. After working a fairly easy case and thinking she'd been about to go home, just about everything had been turned upside down.

First, Lady Heather had shown up, and her appearance had reminded Sara that Grissom was still, in fact, all too attached. Watching him go towards her with his arms out – like he'd never really done with Sara – stung, to put it mildly. Not as much as watching the two of them unite the way they had on the case, though...

Then, from completely out of the blue came Nick's arrest. A friend, a teammate... she watched him taken to a holding cell. Watched him cry, watched him rush to Warrick. Eager for some comfort. She could only imagine what it had been like between he and Catherine, to put her in the state she was in by the time Sara'd seen her. Nicky... afraid and embarrassed in front of all his co-workers...

If that hadn't been bad enough, her reaction – unexpected and overwhelming, even to her – had also scared and embarrassed HER in front of her co-workers. While she'd sat in the locker room and cried it out, at least three people had gone through and seen her. Then Grissom, of all people, had come for her.

She was pretty sure she'd just about been fired for her interference with the woman Nick had saved, too. And probably for almost killing Hodges because of the comments he'd made about Nick.

And that had finally made her question (but not admit to herself that she was questioning) what, exactly, was going on in her mind. Why couldn't she stop thinking about Nick? Why did this hit so hard in the first place? Sure, nobody likes to see a friend arrested, but she would have expected this strong a reaction from Catherine, maybe...

And now – because she'd been unable to hide it – Grissom had caught on. Remembering his smug expression while she'd told the story about her night star watching with Nick made her eyes narrow of their own accord. Remembering how she felt when it was actually happening drove her even crazier, though. It was so warm and comfortable, being there, like that...

So, yeah, definitely a lot to think about. But when she looked up at Doc and smiled to respond, all she said was: "I'm fine."

"Oh, no, you aren't," corrected Doc, kindly. He patted her shoulder a few times. "You're in the trenches, at the moment."

Her smile faded a bit. "Yeah," she admitted easily. "I'm worn out, to be honest." She let her forehead fall onto the table. "I went to see Nick."

Doc rested his cane against the table. "Oh?"

"Yeah. He tried to make light of it."

"That IS usually his way..." shrugged Doc.

"Yeah, but he shouldn't do it," Sara immediately snapped back. "Everything's not all right, and he shouldn't pretend that it is."

"Well, maybe facing it would make the situation worse."

Sara eyed Doc sarcastically. "We don't control the way things turn out, in situations like this. It doesn't matter how Nick chooses to react."

Doc looked at the table, and plucked a photo off of it. "I don't know about that, Sara. I think we can always help – if nothing but ourselves – a situation along in some way. If we choose not to get too bent out of shape about it." He raised the photo and squinted at it. "When was this taken?"

Sara looked at it for a moment, and then quickly sighed afterwards. "It was taken a few weeks ago."

It was a picture of her and Nick. They were standing by a large fountain, and Sara had a balloon tied around her wrist. She remembered whining about looking like a kid, but Nick insisted, after the day THEY'D had... and bought it for her. Watching him tie it on had made her smile. And by the end of the next day, she was saddened when it began to lose its helium.

Nick had his arms around her from behind her in the picture. His teeth were flashing, inches from hers. He was wearing, as he frequently seemed to be, a sweater. She had a long, dark blue coat on. The sun was going down in the background, but casting enough light to create a purple skyline. The wind was blowing her hair across his shoulder. The streetlamp next to them created a cool lighting effect that fell on them, and lit up the edges of their bodies. The kindly lady who had stopped to take the picture had asked them if they were getting married...

Doc set it down. "Do you do this frequently?"

"What? Walk with Nick? Yeah, sometimes..."

Doc cocked his head to the side.

Sara fought back the grin, but lost. "Okay, okay," she admitted. "We do it often."

Doc's eyes surveyed her. "He's a good friend."

"He is," she replied with a deep breath, and stared at the table. Then after a moment, "I don't know what I'm going to do if he's convicted of murder."

Doc gave her a one-armed hug. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"I hope not," said Sara. "Because I really don't know what I'm going to do..."

She could feel Doc's eyes probing her. She knew what he wanted.

And somehow, she knew he knew. Knew what she didn't know, herself. "Doc, I–" But she stopped.

He waited, expectantly.

She pressed her lips together, for a second. And then, "I don't know what to do NOW." She couldn't look at him, but she was vaguely aware of him shifting.

"Sara..." he finally tried, "...Nick will be just fine. You'll get your chance."

She knew what he meant, but for some reason, it was this that made her head snap towards him. "What?"

"You'll get your chance," he repeated. "Just wait for it."

He started for the door, and she watched him go.

But he stopped halfway through it. "Oh! And be ready... I think Nick may be more eager than you are, if possible!"

And he winked before leaving.

Sara watched him continue down the hall and back towards the elevator. Headed for the morgue, most likely.

She banged her head once on the table, and shook it with growing embarrassment.

* * *

Catherine entered the materials lab with a renewed sense of determination – there WAS a chance, after all! If the little soldiers in the bag in her right hand led to anything, it could break the case wide open... and take them all one step closer to getting home. And she was proud to see Greg running over the big four evidence pieces he'd gotten from the initial crime scene. Rather than napping, as she had already done...

But the reason for his studious professionalism became more apparent when she looked a little closer, and found Grissom hunched over something at one of the other tables. She rolled her eyes, and approached cautiously.

"Find something, Gil?" she asked formally.

"I think I may have..." was all he replied with.

She waited for him to expound. But when he didn't, she turned to Greg, instead. "I think I may have something, here."

He looked over, pulling his heavy eyelids back up. "Good. Please, let it be this simple..."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" She slid onto the stool next to him. "It looks like someone was having a little fun at the crime scene, not too long ago." And she whipped the bag up onto the table. "Bring out the old DNA work, huh?"

Greg blinked disgustedly. "Is that... Is that–"

"–cum. Yes."

* * *

Grissom looked back over his shoulder at the two of them and shook his head. Had she really just called it "cum"?

_How very grown up_, he thought. But he decided to keep quiet about it. There wasn't time for another fight with Catherine. He bent over the glove, and continued swabbing it.

The saliva sample was still fresh and thick. It gleamed underneath the lights overhead. The first order of business had been confirming it really was Lady Heather's. But the skin cells from inside the glove indicated it was.

But who spat on her?

Grissom's teeth gritted just to think about it. Heather, fighting desperately to escape someone who had found out she was interfering... Just like he'd said. He shouldn't have let her go, but how could he have stopped her? Why didn't he go WITH her, instead? The whole thing... just like just about everything else on his plate, at the moment... was totally...

"...my fault," he whispered to himself. He removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "Nick, Sara, and now Lady Heather... All my fault."

* * *

"Uh..." said Greg.

Catherine looked up from her notes, expectantly. "Did you get it?" she asked.

Greg looked perplexed. "I did. You'll never guess who it was..."

"The Crest CEO," Catherine tried.

"No."

"Archibald's? It was latent..."

"No. Try someone of the female sex."

At this, she jolted. "What?"

Greg turned the printed papers towards her. "Female. The ejaculate you picked up was female."

Catherine squinted at the papers. Slowly, the picture came into focus. From the system, there was a result: a woman, who looked awfully familiar. Catherine's eyes widened.

"Claire?" she questioned, incredulously. "Claire? The Crest CEO's secretary?"

Greg nodded. "Yep."

Catherine put two hands up, and reeled back, somewhat exaggeratedly. "God..."

* * *

Behind them, Grissom stood up – not suddenly, but still sharply. The stool wheeled back and banged into something.

"Ow!" protested Catherine.

But Grissom barely noticed. "Greg... Did you say the ejaculate was the Crest CEO's secretary's?"

"That's right," answered Greg.

"My leg..."

"Well, guess whose saliva ended up on Lady Heather's glove?"

He turned in time to see Catherine looking to him, eyebrows furrowed and mouth half-open. "Excuse me?"

"Lady Heather... uh, kindly... offered to help. You knew that Archibald Gracie's son... Frank Gracie... was Zoe's father?"

Catherine stopped rubbing her leg entirely. "Zoe Kessler? Lady Heather's daughter?"

"That's right," confirmed Grissom.

"Well, then she must know our victim," said Greg, excitedly.

"She knew the family, but not Archibald. She went to see Zoe's great grandmother – a Lynn Gracie." He indicated the glove on the table. "This was hers, but..." He looked down.

Catherine scooted out of her seat and went to put a hand on his shoulder. "Gil..."

But he shrugged it off. "I, uh– I..." And smiled. "Thank you, Catherine. I'm okay."

She rolled her eyes, halfheartedly, and went to pick up the folder on the table. "If you say so..." She cleared her throat whilst opening it, then addressed Greg. "So, what do we know?"

"Archibald Gracie was found in the vents. By the housekeeper, Delora. The wife came home, claimed she was on vacation," recapped Greg. He began to pace a bit.

"But she was lying," said Catherine. "The DNA from the luggage was all male. And it was the Crest CEO's."

"The other Greg," interjected Grissom.

Greg grinned. "Yep. The other Greg."

"Right. And according to Mrs. Gracie, she was having an affair with her husband's boss... because he was having one with the boss' secretary: Claire."

"And now, Lady Heather knows them. She goes to see the great grandmother of her daughter, and she, what... disappears?"

Grissom nodded stoically in response.

"Okay, so what's the connection?" asked Catherine.

"The secretary," answered Grissom. "No word on how she relates to Heather's situation, but she knew both the wife and the husband."

"Or, she was important enough for them to bring her up. Even if it's a frame job, there's gotta be something for her name to keep showing up," suggested Greg.

"Correct," said Grissom.

"So, it sounds like... we need to bring her in. And this time, if she doesn't cooperate, we get a warrant," said Catherine. "There's evidence, now – pretty strong evidence, I'd say – that links her directly to the crime scene."

Grissom smiled to himself while Catherine and Greg smiled at each other. It was one of those moments – watching them bask in their accomplishment – that made him proud of them...

"Good job, guys," he allowed. "Let's go talk to Brass – I'm going to sit in on this one."

* * *

"She's got an attitude, just for your forewarning," said Greg.

"Perfect." Catherine grinned. "I like me a challenge. Especially when I'm in this kind of mood." She and Grissom would be in on this one together.

"Good luck," said Brass.

She nodded her head once, and then proceeded through the door, breathing ice instead of fire.

When she slammed it closed behind her, both Grissom and Claire looked up.

Far lacking in the usual formality, Catherine stormed over and banged a hand down on the table. "Alright, sweetie, here's the deal: your lying is keeping me at work, way past the end of my shift. I have a daughter, and she's waiting on me. So how about we cut the crap..." she sat back into the chair behind her, "...and get straight to the truth." She folded her arms across her chest, and inclined her head to the side. "We'll ask you one more time."

"What do you know about Archibald Gracie's murder?" added Grissom.

Claire shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?"

"You tell us," Catherine snapped back. "We found some very... intimate DNA in the Gracies' living room: ejaculate."

Claire's eyes widened, minutely.

"Female ejaculate," continued Catherine. "Yours."

"If you don't want to come clean, Claire, that's fine – we'll find what we're looking for, anyway. It just means your uncooperation will be counted against you, when we do."

"You'll be in prison for the rest of your life if we find anything that ties you to his murder. Anything, at all..."

She exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "Okay," she said. She let her hands go from the side of her head to the table. "Okay."

Catherine settled into her chair for a story. She was fairly sure it would be fictional, at least in part, but still... It might be entertaining, if nothing else.

"Look, you gotta remember, it's... different now. Not the same as how it used to be, when we were all younger." She looked between them. "All of us." A tear escaped her eye, but she brushed it away, immediately. "I was... not having an affair with Archie – I was having one with Ginger."

Catherine's lips parted slowly.

Beside her, Grissom seemed unfazed.

"We, uh... we met at that Christmas party. We didn't want anyone to know." Her tears flowed faster, and she gave up trying to staunch them. "It was just... immediate. We had a connection, right away. She was so beautiful...

"We were trying to make our relationship work. But things just kept getting in the way. Greg would call me in for work, or Archie would take Ginger away... There was always something. We finally got a moment to ourselves last night... after Archie died..."

NOW Grissom seemed fazed. His lips fell apart. "You killed him, and then..."

A devious looking smile came across her face. "Oh, no. No, no, no... Someone else did that for me. I don't know who, I swear, but... God, I'd like to meet them." Her eyes rolled back into her head. "SO... hot..."

The revelation finally sunk into Catherine. An army of earthworms crawled from her feet to the top of her head. A violent shiver of repulsion ran through her when they all combined at the top, shaking her brain...

"I'm-I'm sorry?" asked Grissom, carefully.

Claire leaned forward. "Have you ever had sex with a dead body? Do you know how incredible it is? It's like... their souls are still with you. They watch you, but there's nothing they can do to help themselves. It's the ultimate form of rape."

Grissom's eyes closed, and his hands rattled on the table. But Catherine clenched her stomach, where an increasingly-heavy weight was settling. _Oh, my God,_ she thought. _Oh, my God..._

After a few moments, she looked back up. Their discomfort was obviously amusing to Claire.

"So... so, what you're saying is..." said Catherine, "...you went back to an unreleased crime scene... with the victim's wife... to have sex where her husband's body had been?"

"Hey, you bastards got the body before we could," shrugged Claire. "What were we supposed to do?"

"You think our problem, at this point, is that you trespassed on a police-protected crime scene?!" demanded Catherine, incredulously. "I'm sorry, honey, but this is a whole new level of 'illegal'. And absolutely disgusting..."

"Wait a minute..." interjected Grissom. "You said, 'someone else' killed Archibald. You never mentioned who."

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Because, I think you work for him," replied Grissom. "I think he..." and Grissom yanked two pieces of paper out of the folder, "...took a friend of mine." He dropped them before her: the DNA results on Lady Heather's glove and the suitcases. "Both Greg, that's right," he pressed in response to her confused expression. "So, where's he taken her?" He stood and leaned over the table towards her. "STOP PLAYING GAMES, AND TELL ME WHERE HEATHER IS!"

Claire raised one eyebrow. "Oh, I think you know. One of you already found us. Before."

Catherine's eyes widened slightly.

"'Us'?" repeated Grissom.

"That's right," said Claire. "Greg, Ginger, and I." She shook her head with mock sadness. "Poor old Greg... Never should have trusted me with his secret."

"What secret?" questioned Catherine.

Claire opened her eyes. "Just a little survival measure." And her expression became even more smug. "The government would call it insurance fraud. Mass insurance fraud, more like. So, Greg did us a favor." She wrapped her arms around herself. "We don't get to, uh... indulge in our habits very often, Ginger and I. It's hard to find bodies."

"So..." said Catherine, "Greg was bringing you–"

"Bodies, "interrupted Claire. "In the desert. Where one of you was. I believe I heard the arresting officer calling him 'Nicholas Stokes'? And, if I'm not mistaken, he's doing time, now, isn't he?"

Catherine's hands shook. But with rage, this time, as opposed to sadness. Nicky...

Suddenly, one of Grissom's hands came down over hers. "Catherine."

Without taking her eyes off Claire's smug face, "Let's go."

Suddenly, Greg burst in. "Wait! One more thing..."

Both Catherine and Grissom looked over at him, and watched him reach into the folder. He withdrew a photo and held it in front of her, forcefully.

"Know him?" he demanded.

Her eyeballs swept up and down. "Frank, huh?"

Grissom leaned even closer. "What?"

"That's Frank. Ginger's son. So, you got him... and you couldn't figure all the rest of this out?"

Catherine turned to gauge Brass' reaction – just in time to see his mouth fall open.

"Let's go," she repeated.

* * *

Whilst staring at the ceiling, Nick sighed. It was getting cold... Overhead, there was a little more light still coming through the window. The shadows of the bars on it were jagged, telling him that he'd been imprisoned for almost a whole day, now. He wondered what the others were doing...

His door suddenly clicked, and he sat up with more reflex than he thought he'd have after a whole day of lying on his ass.

"Mr. Stokes?" asked the attending officer – a new one from when Sara had visited. "You've got another visitor."

"Really?" asked Nick. He was beginning to understand why prisoners looked forward to their visiting schedules. If he made it out of this – and his credibility and influence survived to any extent – he'd see what he could do for others in his position... "There's-there's someone here, for me?" He looked out the window. "This late?"

The officer smiled, and stepped aside. From around her came Doc Robbins, bearing a wide grin.

Nick rocketed off the bed towards Doc. He didn't see Doc's slight wince when his arms clapped tightly around him.

"Doc!" he exclaimed.

Doc chuckled, and returned the hug with one arm. "Hello, there, Nick."

"Wow, this is a surprise," said Nick, pulling back.

Doc eyed him with fake offense. "Oh, please... I'm not Grissom."

Nick sucked air in through his teeth. "Ooh... THAT'S not somewhere anybody wants to go..." He indicated the bed. "Here, if you wanna have a seat. Sorry, this is all I got..."

Doc waved a hand dismissively. "I'm an easy house guest." He grunted slightly on his way down to the seat. "So... how are you holding up, with all this?"

The officer disappeared through the door.

Nick joined Doc. "I'm okay."

"Yes. That's what Sara said you told her."

Nick's lips jutted out. "Sara...?"

"That's right. I saw her, after she'd been here."

"How's she doing?" asked Nick eagerly. He'd kind of hoped she'd have been back by then, but he was mildly sure it had only been a few hours since she'd been there last. Even though it felt like it had been much longer...

"Oh... you know..." sighed Doc. "She's Sara. Still holding on, there." He grinned knowingly. "She still won't admit she's tired."

Nick nodded, all-too-familiarly. He leaned back against the wall, hands on the back of his head. "Yep. Sounds like Sara."

Doc looked at his feet for a second, but then again affixed Nick with his gaze. "Yes. She tells me... that's your MO, too."

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe... But I'm allowed, she's not."

Doc cocked his head to the side, slightly. "And why's that?"

His facial muscles grinned wider by themselves. "Because she's Sara," answered Nick. "She's been through enough, you know? Somebody's gotta watch over her. Keep her safe, keep her from burning out." He turned to Doc, still all smiles. "I assume you been stepping in for me? While I've been... preoccupied?"

Doc put a hand out to the side of his arm. "Nick..."

Looking at Doc's hand, his composure weakened a bit. His lower lip shook.

"Sara's been... doing rough," continued Doc. "But she's doing better. She was smiling as wide as you were just then, when she got back from seeing you."

It took a moment to control himself enough to speak. "Good," he finally got out. "I was worried, kinda, that she would... feel worse, after... after sh-she saw me."

"Yeah," said Doc. "Do her a favor: she was worried that you were... well, she called it 'making light'?"

Nick took a deep breath. "Is that so...?'

"It is." Doc leaned back against the wall, as well. "So, make sure you... resolve that, when you're done in here."

His polite, optimistic expression only made Nick feel worse inside.

But he did his best to return it. "I will."

"Oh! And go for a walk."

Nick's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked over. "A walk?"

"Yes. With Sara, I mean. Like you did when you bought her the balloon?"

A warm, comforting feeling seemed to envelop Nick in his stomach. It manifested as a falsely-innocent blink-and-stare. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Nick. This old man has seen a thing or two, you know?"

Nick's smile faded. He stared at his feet, lost in the memory... Absentmindedly, his hand reached down his side. Where was his copy...?

He looked back up as he retrieved it – Doc was watching, expectantly.

Nick took his hand and set something down in it. When Doc looked down at it... and saw that it was the exact same picture as the one Sara had shown him... he grinned.

"Brass let me have it," explained Nick.

Doc looked between the photo and Nick, and then back several times. Finally, he shook his head. "That was awfully nice of him."

"You know, I never understood why people called it 'awfully nice'..." mused Nick.

"I suppose, I understand that," said Doc. "It's contradictory."

Nick pressed his lips together. "Very," he said.

And then they laughed together about it.


	5. The Same Number of Times

Grissom crossed the dirty parking lot to his car, trailed closely by Catherine and Greg. The three of them were a sight to behold as they stormed towards the vehicle. Behind them, Brass was ordering the other officers into position – each one climbed into their assigned car in silence. The sounds of sirens were loud enough to even affect Grissom. Or maybe that was just because his senses were clear.

And they WERE clear. Determined and angry as he was... as he hadn't felt since he was a child... all pistons were firing at maximum capacity. He felt dangerous; like an unleashed machine fixated on a single target. The analogy seemed to fit well with the hazing crimson color his sight was turning.

"Drive, Catherine," he ordered, steadily.

She appeared surprised – or, at least, as much of her as he could see, out of the corner of his angry eyes – but she didn't hesitate in taking the keys from his outstretched hand as they went.

"Okay, here's the situation!" announced Brass. "Lethal force is authorized, but wait for my signal!"

A flurry of "yes, sir" and "Roger that" reached Grissom's hearing, mixing in seamlessly with the sounds of police mobilization.

Suddenly desperate to drown it out, he wrenched the door of the car open on the passenger's side and slid into the seat quietly. He could vaguely sense Greg staring at him from the back.

"Can I help you?" he asked in monotone.

"What?" questioned Catherine.

"Greg. He keeps staring at me, so I'm assuming," and he looked over his shoulder, "there's something you want to ask?"

Greg shook his head quickly. "No, I'm fine. Just a little–"

"–nervous?" interrupted Grissom. He turned around and began to put on his seat belt. "Oh, no, no, no, Greggo – this is the fun part."

Catherine revved the car awake, and they watched as the police cars began to file out. She kept her hand on the steering wheel, and her foot on the pedal. She looked to Grissom as their place in the line came up.

"Go," was all he said, still not looking anywhere but forward.

Her foot slammed down on the pedal, and with grace (and a bit of luck) she edged right into the center of the lineup.

The whole ride out to the desert, Grissom did his best to meditate on the events. Nick in the desert. The ventilation shaft. Lady Heather's reappearance. Nick being processed, arrested... seen by Sara.

He removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. Some of the fight was vanishing from him, at the memory of finding her in the locker room.

It was just one of those days where he was sick of it. Sick of what it took to do his job as a CSI. Being lied to by people, being played... Having to discover and solve gruesome, murders. Things that took him and his team... his family... to the depths of what a human being should have to encounter. Facing life in prison for doing the right thing, being accosted whilst visiting old friends, trying to hold it together when one of their own was in a terrible position... He was just sick of it.

"She's going to be okay, Gil," reassured Catherine. "She's fine."

Grissom sighed. If he was honest with himself, there was no one he trusted more to make it out of the situation Lady Heather now found herself in than Lady Heather, herself. He didn't doubt she was alive. Not really... But it was still hard to shake the "what if" scenarios running through his mind.

_I'm not perfect_, he shouted, and threw his hands up with frustration inside of himself. _No matter how... how little they think of me..._ –he looked to see Greg was chewing on his nails, and staring out the window– _...and my emotions, I just can't help it, sometimes!_

He did have to admit, though: it felt like an admission of weakness, even to himself. Which was exactly the reason everyone who knew him thought so little of him in situations like the one Nick was in.

Finally, the desert came – Las Vegas was really too large, and under these circumstances, it tested Grissom's patience more than anything else he could remember during the whole thing. But come, the desert did, and when they finally reached the bridge, Grissom didn't even open the door. He burst through, and his weapon was from its holster to his hand instantly. Behind him, Catherine was the second to draw a gun.

"Alright, spread out! But keep in radio contact!" commanded Brass.

To the edge of the bridge... To the edge of the bridge... That's where Nick had shot the last guy... That's where they said she'd been taken...

A horrible thought occurred to Grissom in the time it took for him and the others to get from the car to railing on the bridge's edge. What if this was all a setup? What if it was cover-up? Giving the killer time to kill Heather somewhere else? But before he had time to hesitate...

...there they were.

"Brass!" shouted Greg.

Grissom did not look away as Brass and his officers stormed over to the railing... to the edge, where Grissom could not make his mouth close.

Lady Heather was there. She was lying, face up, on a large rock. Wrapped around almost her entire torso was duct tape, silver and shining in the setting sun. She looked horrified. It was a look Grissom had never seen on her before. It put a knot in the deepest pit of his stomach. He flinched, but raised his weapon.

"Gil..." came the warning voice of Brass beside him. "We got this." Then her turned... and, at the top of his voice, bellowed out: "LVPD!"

The killer stopped – he spun around and the knife in his hand glinted brighter than the duct tape.

"Greg!" continued Brass. "Put the knife down!"

Grissom's arms inched out, ever so slowly. All thoughts were gone from him.

"Gil!" shouted Catherine.

"Put the knife down, nobody needs to get hurt!"

But it wouldn't make a difference. Grissom knew that, well before they'd left. For all Brass' reasoning, nothing would change the enemy's mind.

Lady Heather's eyes had been closed the whole time they'd been there. The make-up she wore so thickly was trailing down her eyes. She'd been crying...

And when she opened them, they were already staring directly into Grissom's. Grissom's... which widened, and the red hazing around everything he was seeing faded. Faded till it disappeared entirely.

The CEO whipped over, and his whole body extended with the exertion. He was going to get to Lady Heather. He was going to kill her before they could stop him. That was all he cared about, now...

Grissom did not remember commanding his fingers to pull down, least of all the exact same number of times... But they did.

One.

Two.

Three.

In the corner of his eye, Catherine flinched. Greg's head seemed to turn towards him in slow motion. Brass' mouth falling open took more time than it should have.

And Lady Heather screamed.

As the body came falling to rest right down on top of her, she screamed.

Grissom dropped his weapon. He vaulted over the edge of the railing – the quickest way down was to slide in the sand down the slight hill to his left.

"GIL!" he heard Catherine and Brass yelling after him simultaneously.

He kept going... And on the way down, he shed his sunglasses. His hands dug shakily into his vest for his emergency pocketknife.

"G–... G-Grissom," stuttered Lady Heather, as he approached.

He pulled the body away with such strength, it lifted off the ground. For less than a second, he watched it go flinging away from them with a savage pleasure – his lip twitched, maliciously. And then, he was on his knees in the sand, carefully – and more calmly than anyone who'd seen him just a few moments ago could have possibly imagined he could be – slicing through the duct tape bonds.

Within mere seconds more, Lady Heather was free. And they were embracing. Her arms were surely leaving markings on his torso, and he was taking long, slow breaths. Just reveling in the sensation of seeing, hearing, and feeling her, safely in his arms...

"Gil...!" shouted Catherine weakly. She was the first to reach them. "Gil..."

Brass looked a little less sympathetic as he approached. Handcuffs were out, and Grissom already knew what was happening.

"Gilbert Grissom..." sighed Brass, wearily but also angrily, "...you're under... well, arrest. As you know..."

Grissom offered his hands behind his back voluntarily. "I know," he affirmed, as the sounds of the handcuffs clicking in came to him. He looked to Lady Heather. "But I understand, now..." he continued. And then he looked to Catherine. "I couldn't not do it."

Despite the situation, Catherine smiled.

"Yeah... well... let's see if a judge feels the same way," finished Brass. "Goddamn it, Gil..." He grabbed ahold of Grissom's elbow and began leading him back up towards the squad cars. "Goddamn it."

The wind blew across Grissom's face and cheeks and nose as he descended... with some trouble... the sandy hills. He looked back once more at Lady Heather. She was rubbing her arm, and watching after him. He could see her nose turning up in a sniffle once before Catherine and some of the other officers got to her. One of them had a blanket. It was a red blanket, with a plaid pattern in it. It looked good with her.

Grissom's face relaxed finally relaxed itself, with an audible pop that signaled the releasing of tension from his jaw.

As they reached the car, Brass, it seemed, still couldn't help exchanging a grin with him.

"I promise not to run, if you'll just let me stand outside by the car," tried Grissom. "The wind's nice... and who knows when I'll next be able to feel it."

Brass' lip twitched. "I'll roll the windows down. Please, Gil?"

Grissom nodded. He was at peace, oddly... and nothing was going to take that from him.

After Brass had been true to his world, and the doors shut behind him after he slid willingly into the car, Grissom watched them going over the scene.

When Lady Heather walked by, an undetermined amount of time later, she left him one simple kiss on his lips before following with Catherine – who was still all smiles – towards their car. Greg gave him a thumbs up.

Grissom felt compelled to return the gesture with a salute. And so he did. And for once, he did not care about what anybody else would, could, or might already...

...think about it.

* * *

Sometime much... MUCH later, Greg looked up and sighed with relief.

Warrick was crossing the sand with a kit in hand. "Hey, guys!" he greeted with a smile. "What'd I miss?"

"Oh... nothing." Catherine also sighed, and got to her feet. She approached Warrick with her weary arms out. They hugged briefly. "Just the boss shooting someone."

Warrick inclined his head upward, once. "That's what I heard. And here, Grissom took me off the case! Put me on Nick's... Good news, on that front, though." He put a hand on Catherine's shoulder, and his tone dropped into a gentler range. "Looks like there's a good possibility he's going to be okay."

Catherine stared for a few seconds. Then she blinked a couple of times, and finally...

...collapsed into tears. Well before she hit the sand, Warrick's arms were back around her. Greg crawled over to them and touched her leg tentatively.

She reached out, and took his with her own, squeezing it. "Oh, God," she sobbed. "Oh, thank God..."

"Yeah..." Warrick comforted her. "That's right. Nicky's going to be okay." He held his other arm out for Greg – who went into them without a moment's thought. "He'll be okay. We all will..." continued Warrick.

Anyone passing by would have seen a group of three weary, worn out, absolutely depleted friends... all their reservations and strength gone... and all in a pile underneath the sunset in the warm sand. With the wind blowing all around them.

More comfortable and at ease than they had been in God only knew how long...

* * *

The endless sounds of the phones ringing in the background were NOT anything alone the lines of what Brass wanted to hear when he finally had his own breakdown... back in his office, on his desk. His forehead hit the surface of it with a thunk, and his neck seemed to move automatically to drag it in a back-and-forth shaking motion. Why had Grissom done that...?

"Hey, you're back!"

It was Doc Robbins. Brass looked up, but felt fairly certain he'd left his bottom lip hanging down on the desk. His answering nod was very weak.

"So, did you find her?"

"Oh, yeah," confirmed Brass. "We found her, alright."

Robbins' eyebrows came together. "Did she... did she make it?"

"She sure did," replied Brass. "Gil saw to that..."

Doc sat down in the chair in front of Brass. "Gil did what?"

Brass leaned back in his own seat. "We got to the crime scene... exactly where Nick shot guy number one... and we go to the edge of the bridge. We look over the railing, right? And we see Lady Heather. She's there, and she's in a lot of danger, and the whole nine yards. Now, the guy responded when I called out. He turned." Even in his own voice, he could tell he was trying too hard to convince himself. "But then he took off for her. For Lady Heather, I mean. He goes running, and Gil – Mr. Reputation – he pulls the trigger!"

For a moment, Doc didn't say anything. He fell quiet, and folded his hands on his kneecap.

"Yeah," Brass went on. "Yeah, he pulls the trigger. Shoots the guy deader than a door nail! So, you're gonna have a new victim on the autopsy table, down there, Doc. The Crest CEO!" He held his hands up in mock excitement. "So, tell me..." and he leaned forward, "...does that count as enough of a celebrity to make your scrapbook?"

"Given the kind of things THIS guy was into?" bantered Doc immediately. "Not a chance."

"Oh, good," answered Brass. "Good, glad we got that out of the way." He leaned back and wiped the sweat away from his forehead. "So, then, all we gotta do now... is explain to everybody why not one... but two CSIs are now facing the charges of murder."

"Oh, come on, Jim. You don't really believe it was murder."

Brass exhaled sharply, and returned to his original position of face down on the desk.

"You know Gil did the right thing," pressed Doc, softly. "And Nick... Nick did the same right thing. They saved two lives. And maybe... maybe this will have a good effect on Gil's outlook. Maybe it will help him outside of work."

Brass sat up. "If he doesn't get sentenced to spend that life in prison, then yeah: it could develop into a good outlook." The smile that came to his face was genuine. "That's true. And speaking of Nick... how is he? Does-does he..." Brass looked from side-to-side, as if checking for eavesdroppers. When he spoke, his voice was significantly lower. "Does he know? Does he know he may be out soon? And welcomed like a hero?"

"I didn't tell him," said Doc. "I figure it'll make a better surprise. He was happy when I left the cell, anyway – we discussed Sara."

"Ah..." said Brass knowingly. "Sara... Yes, Nicky and Sara. Young lovers in arms, huh?"

"It certainly appears that way," said Doc.

He looked down, like he was suddenly uncomfortable.

Brass tried to lean down, but look up, as if to see into Doc's ducked eyes.

"You okay, there, Al? Don't tell me you have some kind of... feelings for Sara. Or Nick!" he joked.

Doc laughed. "Oh, God, no!" he managed to get out. "No, no, no! Not at all... Nothing like that. It's just..." He eyed Brass sincerely. "Nick showed me the photo. The one of him and Sara. He said you let him have it."

Brass' stomach loosened up a bit. "I did," he confirmed. "I went and got it for him actually." He relaxed back in his chair. "I take it Nicky enjoyed it?"

"He did," replied Doc. "He did, a lot. I just... wanted to tell you, I'm proud of you for doing that."

Brass shrugged. "Well... hey..." and he again checked for listeners, "...I'm not Gil."

Doc nodded.

"I'm not, exactly... unfamiliar with these types of situations. This is just a fact of life, and I really don't think it's something Grissom ever wrapped his head around. Sometimes, people are just attracted to each other. If I'm honest, well... I think Gil sat on his ass for too long."

Doc's grin was playful. "Are you saying you already knew? About Nick and Sara?"

"I'm saying I suspected," said Brass, non-committal. "I've seen them out and about on their own time before. There's just... a way they are, together. You know?"

"I do."

"Yeah... And I don't think Grissom's cut out for everything Sara needs him to be. And after the two, almost three years since she's been here, he's had plenty of chances." He looked away, distractedly. "Maybe a guy could chalk it up to Nick being closer in age. Younger, more up-to-date, you could say." He shook his head. "But, no... No, I think this was gonna happen. Nicky knew what he was doing. Gil didn't." Then he chuckled, suddenly. "I don't know who to feel sorrier for."

Doc inclined his head to the side, a confused expression all over him.

"Gil or Greg," finished Brass.

Doc laughed again. "Yes. I got a chance to tell Greg that, myself. That I think his quest has always been in vain."

"Uh huh," said Brass, still staring off into space. "They're all good guys and gals."

"They sure are," said Doc. He rose to his feet. "But, the only thing in Nick and Sara's way now is... well, themselves."

At this, Brass' attention returned to the present. "What do you mean?"

Doc stopped in the act of leaving the room and looked back. "Well, now that Grissom and Lady Heather have... well, whatever's going on between them... it's just a matter of getting Nick and Sara to admit it. To themselves, and... well, to each other." He began to make his way out. "Or..." he said over his shoulder, "maybe it's just her. He seems pretty open about it."

Brass put his head down into his hands, arms resting by the elbows on his desk. "Yep. That sounds about right. Natural Nicky, Stubborn Sara."

At this, Doc laughed again. "Well, I need to be down in the morgue. My body will surely arrive, soon. See you later, Jim."

"Bye, Al."

When he was gone, Brass reached into his desk, where there was a bottle of alcohol hidden next to two glass goblets.

_I shoulda offered him a drink_, he mused for half a second, before pouring himself one glass.


	6. Unprecedented Monster

During the processing of the murder scene, Catherine, Warrick, and Greg's investigation turned up countless bodies. And even more ejaculate samples. All of which, Catherine was certain, would match up to Ginger Gracie and Claire when they were run back at the lab. It was a multi-hour process, and the lighting was almost gone... – setting on the end of their difficult shift.

And yet, when they climbed back into their car to head back to the city with their results, she felt strangely energized. This still wasn't over – it was time to go for Ginger Gracie.

* * *

_Another elevator..._

Greg shook his head a bit, to clear the blurring.

"Almost there, man," Warrick reassured quietly. "Almost there..."

Greg nodded, fervently. It was getting so close to the end, now. All there was that remained was for him to survive another elevator ride... and then arresting the perp. DNA had turned up Ginger Gracie all over that desert. All over the corpses. She was going down, and she was going down hard.

Perhaps THIS was the hardest part of the job: when you felt emotionally attached to the victim's loved ones, and it turned out they were the criminals, they were the ones who did it...

Greg's teeth gritted as the door opened from the elevator to the hall – he followed Brass and the other two officers down it. There was Ginger Gracie's room, conveniently situated right at the end of the hallway. No way to escape the police, now...

"LVPD!" shouted Brass, when they had reached the door.

Mrs. Gracie answered it quickly. The smile she put on was even more infuriating to Greg. He gritted his teeth tighter.

"Yes, officers?"

"Get out of the room, Mrs. Gracie," Brass rattled off. "You're under arrest for murder and necrophilia."

Greg felt Warrick clapping him on the back once when her jaw dropped, and the cuffs clicked onto her.

But she recovered quickly – as she passed, she looked over at them, and a savage grin ripped across her face. "Mr. Sanders," she greeted mockingly, with an incline of her head.

Greg watched her go with his head held back and high. Right before she disappeared into the elevator, her expression became even more smug.

Brass' voice brought him back to it. "Alright, check for anything else you may be able to find, here. I'll see you back at PD."

Greg nodded.

"Gotcha, Captain," said Warrick.

* * *

Catherine's footsteps were calmed and measured while she went towards Brass. He was looking around disinterestedly – likely as eager to get home as the rest of them were.

"Jim," she greeted when she reached him. "We ready?"

"Yeah, almost," he replied. "So, tell me what you found in the desert, so I know what we're working with, evidence-wise."

She nodded, and opened the folder. "Okay..." she began, "we found tons and tons of female ejaculation, all over the place."

Brass shuddered.

Catherine grinned. "Oh, come on, now, Jim. We women do it, too."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm well aware," said Brass, uncomfortably. "I just... well, never encountered it before."

"Well, you sure have, now," continued Catherine. "These two women were absolutely maniacs. They left the products of their fetishes all over the desert. The corpses were covered in them. At least a hundred of them, so far."

"'A hundred'?!" repeated Brass. "How many did we find?!"

"We're still finding. Current reports suggest they've found almost two hundred, right now."

Brass' teeth ground together. "All right..." he said. "Is there anything else? Or can we go nail this bitch, now?"

"I don't think she'd like it – you're too masculine, and you have a pulse. But, there is, uh... one more thing. It's more... personal."

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

Catherine inhaled, and felt calmness rolling up in her. "Grissom's off the hook. When you get back, you're going to find a memo on your desk. He didn't kill the Crest CEO."

"What?" asked Brass, astonished.

"Yeah," said Catherine. "I'll give you the details afterwards." She looked through the glass at a malicious-looking Ginger Gracie, and could see Brass doing so, as well. "For now... I agree: let's go nail this bitch."

She strode from there into the interrogation room. Ginger Gracie looked up when the door opened, and she saw them coming in.

"Ah," she said. "I've already seen Mr. Sanders. Now, it's you?"

"You got it," answered Catherine. "I get to do the honors."

"'Honors'," quoted Mrs. Gracie. "Is that how you see this? Is that how you delude yourself into believing this is okay?"

"You killed at least a hundred people, Mrs. Gracie," said Catherine. "Spare me the pity party."

"That sounds good to me," added Brass. "We're here to talk about the how... but mostly, the why."

Catherine and Brass took to the chairs before her.

Mrs. Gracie folded her arms in front of her. "Are you, now? And what makes you so interested in that? I thought your jobs were to find the who and the how. Why the why?"

"Look, in situations like this, there's more than enough justification to press for the why of the matter," answered Brass. He folded his hands in front of him on the table. "And don't give us lectures, lady. You don't know how PD or CSI works."

She smiled. "Nope. You're right about that. I have some ideas, though..."

"Uh huh," placated Catherine, to get the show moving. "So, Mrs. Gracie, are you gonna help us out with that?"

"Where's Claire?" answered Ginger Gracie.

"That's none of your business, anymore," Brass snapped. "The two of you will never see each other again, regardless of anything else. We got more than enough to charge you for serial murder, and there's not a jury in the world who won't convict. If anything in this business is certain, Mrs. Gracie, it's that you. Are. Going. Down. ...for everything you've done, here. So why don't you just give all the nonsense and bullshit up, and come clean about it, hmm? It might make you feel better," he added sarcastically.

To Catherine's surprise and anger, Mrs. Gracie began to cry silently. "You don't understand..." she whispered. "You don't know what kind of life I've had to live. You people... always hunting for fingerprints and DNA samples... You've forgotten what it's like to be a person. To be a person living in the world, and to have to deal with the things the common folks do."

"Even if you were anywhere within the ballpark on that ridiculous assessment, you're far from being a commoner, Mrs. Gracie," rebutted Catherine. "Far from it."

"Is that what you think? You think I'm above the rest? You think I'm just a different form of you? Why...? Because my husband made money?"

"Only following your logic," argued Brass. "Following ours... you're just a perverted, sick-minded killer."

Mrs. Gracie exhaled loudly. "There's just no getting through to you people, is there?" She looked away, deliberating for just a moment. And then turned back to face them head-on. "Alright. Claire and I met a long, long time ago. Back in high school."

Catherine raised her eyebrows.

"I remember it so clearly." Mrs. Gracie smiled at her hands on the table, bound in cuffs. "We were both in the English class. It was her neck that got to me. It was so... beautiful, so delicious-looking."

She raised her eyes again, and Catherine was a little suspicious to see a hint of begging there. "You have to understand: I FOUGHT it, I really did. I tried to see my boyfriend in the same way. I tried to ignore. Tried to teach myself, show myself, that it was natural. That my pleasures should be organic, not synthetic. That I should be proud to have a man in my mouth. And I should be disgusted with myself for ever having a woman– ...Ever hav–"

She shook her head. "It just didn't work. It didn't, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't deny myself, any longer. I gave in. Claire and I met one night, under the bleachers. She was a cheerleader. I was... well, I was the loser, back then. If anyone had seen us then, they would've guessed that MY future was as a secretary. I've never forgotten how it felt, that evening... The lights were out, save for one. The stars above..."

She took in another deep breath. "Unfortunately, my father didn't understand. And neither did hers. Our fathers were... religious." She looked up for a moment, but then let her head drop back down. "They told us we were of the devil. They told us we were possessed, insane. I pleaded with him to let us stay. I told him I'd refrain, I'd find a way." She glared at the table. "I had other reasons, you know. Other things about my life back then, I wanted to stay for. But they insisted that the best way to fight 'sin' was to 'separate ourselves from it'. We were all living in Wisconsin back then. So, we separated."

She wrapped her arms around herself, and sniffled. "I found out later that they took Claire to California. While WE came HERE. I tried to deal with it, though. I met Archie, I married him... After my parents had made the rest of my life complete hell – I was probably the only girl whose parents not only allowed, but encouraged sexual interaction between their daughter and a male. My mother even told me she would be proud of me if I would get pregnant..." She scoffed. "They were that desperate...

"But, I didn't. I had my fun with the boys and men I met along the way, I really did. It isn't as if there isn't some fun to be had. But it was never enough. Never satisfying... Men just can't do what women can do. They don't have the self-control, or the lasting ability in bed. And they don't show the same care that women do out of bed. With men, it's all about sex, you see. Everything they do for you that's nice, or... kind, in some way... it's all because they're playing a constant, on-going game of seduction.  
"So, shortly after my marriage, I became smothered. I felt like, if I didn't do something to free myself, I would kill myself. Fortunately, I discovered that Vegas was not only a good place to do whatever one wants, but a land full of people who didn't care, didn't judge for it. Here were women, and hundreds of them, all lining up to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. I had no reason to be worried anymore. I needn't tell my parents, or my husband. He'd lived this type of life style all his life! He knew there were untold, un-discussed secrets in the real world. He didn't question me when I spent so much time with my 'friends'.

"And imagine my joy when I went with Archibald the day he accepted his job at Crest. And who do I see when I go in? Claire! There she was, my Claire! Right there, behind the CEO! His secretary...

"As it turned out, Claire hadn't been so quick to give up." She grew teary-eyed again. "And for that, I will never, ever be able to repay her. She came here, she found me! She moved her entire life all over again, out to Vegas. She hoped, desperately, that she'd eventually find me, so she took a job at a desk to try to help her efforts along.

"Afterwards, she never needed to worry for money again. I helped to fund all of her nice things. Archibald thought it was great! Thought she and I being friends was wonderful for both the marriage and the career he was trying to build!

"I found, all too soon, that whatever had happened between Claire and I back in school was powerful. She, too, had learned the perks of living in a place similar to Las Vegas. Where life operates by the rule that we can do whatever we want. That's how I convinced her to get into bed with me... and a corpse."

Catherine suppressed a gag. Jim's hands, on the table beside her, tightened.

Ginger Gracie noticed. "One thing I hadn't learned back then was how judgmental the police could be. The only people in the whole of Las Vegas, I'd say." She shook her head, sadly. "But, you see, I also learned quickly that the police were stupid. By that point, the number of corpses I'd slept with was already high. And Claire understood it! I knew we were absolutely, undeniably made for each other when she didn't run screaming, or threaten to turn me in... but rather, she enjoyed it. She even procured a few of the bodies. She was a gift from God! Who I finally couldn't deny the existence of! It was he who had killed that woman, that prostitute I'd been with. When she died during the encounter, I thought it was a bad thing. I thought it meant God had abandoned me. In truth, God was closer than ever to me, at that time! I'd discovered it! Discovered what I needed to get myself through the rest of my life!

"Unfortunately, my husband and my oldest son just couldn't see it. So, when they came home that day, and they stumbled through the bedroom door... well, they just didn't get it. It was a good thing Claire had stumbled across the insurance fraud. Not only did it provide us with a source of bodies, but it provided us with money. And a great cover! It was actually Greg who came up with the idea that I was having an affair. Bless him, he was so helpful. Never showed a sign of faltering... If I had been somehow attracted to men, it would've been him, truth be told. I would've even left Archibald for him without a glance back!

"Him, or my son, that is. If he weren't my son..."

Catherine was squeezing her hands underneath the table. _We'll go for dead bodies, but no incest, huh?_ she couldn't help thinking...

"Archibald was mostly cooperative. He rarely raised a protest to anything that was going on. Naturally, I told him not to hold back on my account. He could sleep with anyone he wanted. And he was always welcome to come sleep with me, to share in my joy! Husbands should do that with their wives, you know? But he didn't spring for it. I'm honestly not sure WHO he ended up with. It's a shame, I'm sure he made a great lover to SOMEBODY out there...

"But Frank, you see, was just a shell of a human being, after his siblings died. He pressed on, he lived life as best he could. But I saw a lot of myself in him. I saw that he needed something, just as I had. He didn't quite sympathize with the empowerment one can find in sleeping with a body, but he DID eventually find that he liked killing and delivering them. Even watching, on occasion. That's how he got the job at Crest – Greg offered him a formal position to explain his presence at Crest, but the REAL money was in taking care of Greg's end of the deal for him. Frank took a lot less money than the people who'd been hired before. That lady WAS nice, though... I was mildly saddened when Frank brought us the old hit team in body bags...

"Eventually, though, Archibald was beginning to come loose. He came home nervous and shaky for months. I've no idea why, because everything was flowing unbelievably smoothly, more than I could have ever imagined it could flow for me to have a happy life. Frank was all too happy to take care of that for us, too. He had his own problems with Archibald. Problems like I'd had with my father, the only difference being Archibald wasn't religious. And thank God for that! I'd have killed him, myself, for my son's sake...

"Frank never did tell us about his affair with the prostitute, though. Or the child he'd fathered. He met her coming off the plane back into Vegas. He came home after he'd spoken to her and told us what he'd discovered. Archibald didn't want to bring the child into this family. I would've pressed against him, but Frank didn't care. And Archibald was taken care of that very night! Greg offered to step up to the plate for us, quite happily, of course. He went to get her, himself. Heather, I hear her name was."

"Is," spat Catherine, in absolute repulsion at the vile, unspeakable, unsalvageable monster sitting before her. "Heather IS her name. She's not dead. We got to her, before your buddy could finish the job."

Mrs. Gracie shrugged. "It's of no value to me, deary. Greg only told me that he was going to enjoy finishing her off because she put up 'one hell of a fight,' I believe his words were. I was just in it for the aftermath of the killing. I must say, though... my son and I, sleeping with the same woman... in life and then in death... well, I was kind of looking forward to that part."

Brass didn't say anything. He stood up and stormed out of the room, red in the face. Catherine watched him go, and hid her face away from Ginger Gracie by staring after him a little longer than necessary.

When she turned back, she inhaled, and asked the question she didn't want to know the answer to. "And, uh... how much of this does your housekeeper know? Or the great grandmother of your son's daughter?"

* * *

Greg's arms were wrapped comfortingly around Delora. The elderly housekeeper had burst into tears long ago. Her frail form was shaking, and she had thrown up a couple of times during the confession into the waste basket. Greg was holding it at foot's length, and balanced on the other, while the kindly old woman sobbed against him.

"Delora? Oh, for heaven's sake..." replied Ginger Gracie from inside the interrogation room. "That would've been one too many people to have kept track of." She shook her head slightly. "I do feel a little badly, though. Delora never did know everything she was cleaning up when she came to our home. And she was such a loyal employee..."

Greg's eyes narrowed. For the first time in his career, he didn't actually know if he would be able to let this person walk past him into prison. That wouldn't be enough for a person like this... for anyone like Ginger Gracie...

Delora raised her head. In her eyes, Greg saw a world of hurt and shock and betrayal. "Oh, my God..." she whispered. "Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I swear to you, I had none! I–"

"–Ma'am, I believe you," reassured Greg, softly. "We all believe you. And no one's going to count you in for this once they hear everything Ginger Gracie's just confessed to. Trust me, when a jury hears this tape...? I'd be surprised if they even ask you to submit to a lie detector test..."

Delora wiped her eyes with a saturated Kleenex she had clutched to herself for most of the whole thing.

"And you know... Archie's grandmother talks a sweet game, but she's just too much of a bitch," went on Ginger Gracie. "She would have told, no question about it."

Greg saw Catherine's head duck. And then shake... This had to be one of the absolute worst things they'd ever encountered in Las Vegas.

"I really thought I knew them," Delora piped up. "It makes me feel sick. I worked for them for all these years, I had no clue at all."

"Nobody did," comforted Greg. "How could they? This is just sick, Delora... on levels you couldn't have anticipated. I know it's in your nature, but... don't blame yourself."

"I feel like I've wasted so much of my time... so much of my life with them. I feel wrong... And what am I going to do for a job?"

Greg inhaled a deep breath.

"Officer, get her out of here," Catherine said from inside interrogation.

And with that, Ginger Gracie was roused from her chair – rather forcefully – by a pale and green-faced policeman.

"You don't understand..." repeated Ginger Gracie, insanely. "You don't understand."

"Yes, Mrs. Gracie, I do." Catherine held the door open for the officer. "I understand that sometimes in life, there IS nothing to understand. There's no way to justify this. Nothing, no matter how strongly you felt or believed, gave you the right to do anything like this. And I sincerely hope, by the time your trial is over, the verdict will make the world a better place by removing you from it." She stepped out and gestured for the officer to proceed. "And I've never said that before, not to anyone. No matter how screwed up I thought they were, that never mattered. I never hoped for the death penalty. Think about that. That is, if you even CAN comprehend that kind of thought or emotion, anymore."

"Oh, yes, I know it well: I am different from you, so therefore, I must be eliminated."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "There's no point..." she sighed, and then looked up, directly into Ginger Gracie's eyes, once again. "'Eradicated' is more like it, Ginger Gracie. Completely and totally 'eradicated'."

The officer went past them, and turned down the hall with Ginger Gracie locked firmly in his grip. She didn't fight him at all as he dragged her off.

Catherine came up behind Greg and Delora. "I'm sorry, Delora," she offered. "I'm so sorry..."

"That's okay," responded Greg. "We were just making plans. We'll see to it Delora's taken care of!" He looked back to her. "I think it's probably fair to say, you've earned a little peace, huh? Mayhaps we can find you somewhere nice to retire?! You could go and visit your own family," he suggested.

Delora smiled, and dabbled at her eyes a little more. "That's nice of you, Mr. Sanders, but I don't know what to do if I'm not working. And my own family...? I think it's too late for that. Work is all I've known, for all of my life... I can't just change gears now."

"Oh, I bet you can," said Greg, friendly. "I'll help. If you start out, here in Vegas, and maybe go somewhere else later on...? I'd be happy to help you find a way to adapt to a new life style. Might give me a little preview of what it's going to be like when I'm your age."

Delora's smile turned into a full-blown grin. "My only regret in my life, despite everything else I've just found out about the people I once thought of as friends and good employers, is I won't live to see you at that age, Mr. Sanders. You're a fine young man." And she gave him a hug. "Fine... and I gotta thank you for making this old woman's life – especially at a time life this – that much better. I feel like I know now why I had to go through all this. Thank you so much, Mr. Sanders."

Greg felt her smiling up against his chest. He returned her hug, and felt the tears escaping his eyes. He looked over.

Where Catherine, Warrick, and Brass were smiling at him. And he'd never felt prouder. Being the primary on the case hadn't meant anything, in the end. He'd done his part...

...And perhaps a little more. With which he was not just okay...

...but absolutely happy.

* * *

"Alright, so what's the deal with Grissom?" demanded Brass.

Catherine took a seat and snatched up the memo from in front of him. "First, tell me what's going to happen to Ginger Gracie and Claire...?"

"They've already been assigned separate prisons. They're in a holding cell, now."

Catherine's eyes widened. "They're with Nicky?"

Brass' eyes, on the other hand, narrowed. When he spoke, his tone was short. "No, Catherine, they're not anywhere near Nicky." He then smiled down at his folded hands. "He's, uh... he's gonna be on his way out, soon."

Catherine exhaled with relief, and leaned back against her chair.

After a few moments in which they both rubbed their eyes, Brass held a hand out for the report. "What's going on with Grissom?" he again asked.

Catherine shook her head to clear it. "Oh! Yes..." She cleared her throat. "The deal is: Grissom didn't kill him." She passed the report over to him.

"Yeah, you told me that," pressed Brass. "But what the hell DID happen to him, then?"

"Heart attack," answered Catherine, completely relaxed for the first time since the whole thing had begun. "Doc's autopsy came back. The cause of death was a heart attack."

"At... At the–"

"–exact moment Grissom fired at him, yeah," finished Catherine, and she nodded once. "That's right. What are the odds?"

"Next to nothing," commented Brass. He was again staring off, apparently astonished.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. It was an evidence bag, and there were three bullets in it. "I found these amongst the vegetation, out there in the desert. They match Gil's gun. No blood, no DNA at all. He didn't do it."

Brass threw his hands up. "Well, thank God for that much... Then, that means we don't have to explain this to ANYBODY."

"Nope," Catherine affirmed. "As far as I know, the public doesn't know about Grissom taking a shot at anybody, yet. And all we have to do in Nick's case is–"

"–play him up as the hero he is." Brass scratched the back of his head. "And he is. If he hadn't shot that guy, that woman would've died. And who knows what could've gone wrong with this whole Gracie case...?"

Catherine raised her eyebrows once, to show her agreement. "Is this the part where I can say, 'I knew it'd all work out, but I'm sure glad it's over'?"

Brass laughed. "Something like that." Then he reached under his desk again. "Hey, Catherine... you want a drink?"

She smiled. That smile where her lips were open, and her tongue was obviously rolling over her teeth, with her eyes angled downwards.

When they moved up again, she could even feel her eyes sparkling as much as she could see them in the reflection on his desk. "I'd love one, Jim."


	7. Whatever the Future Holds

The light was finally fading when Grissom came from his holding cell out into the hallway. He could hear people going on about their business up and down the hallways. It sounded faint... almost non-existent, really. But it was there, and he smiled with the comfort it brought. The background... He knew Brass disagreed though.

He headed along the hallway cautiously. The officer behind him kept prodding him. He didn't know how many holding cells there were, but he hadn't realized there were THIS many... He wondered which one Nick was in...

He stopped, suddenly. _Wait a minute..._ He turned to his attending officer. "Could you take me to Nick Stokes?"

The officer looked around, not sure he'd heard right.

"Nick Stokes. He's also with the crime lab. He's been in all day."

"Sir, I think you have to go through the captain to get visiting time this late."

"I doubt Jim would mind, he's a friend of mine."

"That may be, but I don't–"

"–Ah, for God's sakes, let him see the man."

Grissom looked up. There was Brass, eyes very red and clearly losing his grip on his attitude.

"Jim," he greeted. "The lack of sleep's starting to get to you."

Brass clapped Grissom's shoulder twice. "Ah, yeah, you know it. It's starting to get to all of us." He hiccuped. "So... you want to see Nicky?"

"Yeah... I haven't been to see him at all since this happened."

"Most of us haven't," assured Brass. "Well, I mean, I did..."

"Yes. And so did Sara..."

"And Doc Robbins." Brass shrugged. "Well, alright. Follow me this way, Gil. I'll take you to him. Thank you, officer."

The bewildered-looking policeman smiled meekly, and turned to go back to his duties.

Grissom watched him retreat – whilst he and Brass went in the other direction – over his shoulder with amusement. "Nice guys you've got, Jim."

"Yeah, well, they get the job done," commented Brass. "Though, sometimes, I honestly miss running CSI. It was a lot easier, and the people? Don't get me wrong, Gil, the force has some great people. But sometimes it was preferable to work with the investigation team."

Grissom's smile was quick and entirely formal. They walked on in silence after it. It seemed to take more than a few minutes to get to where they were going. Grissom tried to remember where they were, but his usually-stellar observation skills were failing him – he suddenly felt extremely guilty. What was he going to say to Nick?

He didn't have a whole lot of time to think about it, in any case. It was just another minute or two later that Brass was approaching a new officer.

"Gil Grissom here to see Mr. Stokes." He then turned to Grissom. "And be careful, huh? Try to show poor Nick a little... sensitivity, will you?"

Grissom chuckled once. "I'm all about sensitivity these days, Jim. I promise, right hand to God."

Brass raised his eyebrows. "Yeah... Okay... Well, I'll leave you to it, then." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Don't tell him yet... but I think we're all gonna be seeing Nicky again real soon."

Grissom's only response was a nod of understanding. _Duh, Jim._

Brass whirled around, and it finally occurred to Grissom just what was wrong with him. _Must be drinking._ The idea brought a less forced smile to his face. He seemed to be smiling a lot more, lately. _Hopefully, it sticks._

The officer by the door tapped him on the arm. "Ready, sir?"

"Sure," answered Grissom. "Open it up."

The keys clacked in the lock, and the door swung open. Grissom stepped in, and was momentarily confused when he didn't see Nick immediately.

"Grissom?" came a shocked questioning voice from the bed.

The man in question squinted, staring a little harder into the darkness. His eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting, and in a second, Nick was visible, lying on the bed and wearing a wide grin.

"Grissom!" he said again, this time standing up. "I wasn't expecting to see you, man! Come on in!"

Momentarily torn between exasperation at Nick's commonly-shared low opinion of his emotionalism and somewhat warmed by the sight of him in the state he was in, Grissom stepped farther in with a narrow answering smile.

"Nick," he greeted.

The latter unabashedly walked forward, but stopped short of a hug. He held his hand out, instead.

Which Grissom took, and then pulled Nick into a hug, himself. "How are you feeling, Nicky?"

"Oh, you know..."

Even from where he was, Grissom could hear some surprise in Nick's voice. He was beginning to feel somewhat entertained by the idea of how many shock reactions he could get out of his team...

"That bad, huh?"

"Well, not as bad as I thought," allowed Nick. He pulled back and took a seat on the bed, where he patted the spot next to him. "They take real good care of me in here."

"Mmm. Just don't turn into the type who wants to live in prison all the time..." joked Grissom.

"Oh, hell, no," protested Nick. "No, I'm a long way from that. Not worth it to me."

"Yeah, I, uh... I felt the same way."

Nick angled his head to the side. "Really? How long ago was that? Twenty years?"

Grissom shook his head. "Not quite that long. Try again."

"What, ten?"

"Nope. I'll give you a hint. You were in jail when it happened..."

The light bulb clicking on in Nick's mind was noticeable on his expression. "You were... what, arrested TODAY?"

Grissom's lips twitched as he bobbed his head forward once. "That's right."

"Whoa!" responded Nick. He stood up and walked in a single circle. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! When? How, why? What the hell's been going on since I got locked up?"

Grissom chuckled. "Nothing that serious, Nick. There was a crazy case – one that Greg and Warrick were working, but I traded Warrick out with Catherine – and it's apparently been wrapped up."

Nick's face turned down. His lips came back together, and his eyebrows flicked up one time. "Catherine..." he muttered. "How's she doing?"

Grissom leaned his head to one side. "She's doing fine. Much better, now that her case is finished up. Probably ready to go home, I'd imagine..."

Nick's laugh was so hollow and forced... "She never came to see me." He looked up carefully, like he was testing the waters with one toe. "She that mad at me?"

Grissom paused. In this light, it was easy to see why Nick's arrest had hit Catherine and Sara so hard. He was just so... innocent, in so many ways. So child-like, so simple. Not a stupid or ignorant or naïve person... but just so pure, it almost felt like. Seeing him in an orange jumpsuit, locked away in this dark cell... Grissom felt like he was looking at a loyal dog being punished for doing what his master had told him to do. The way he asked questions... The way he looked almost scared to know the answers...

"I don't think she's mad at you at all, Nick," he said after a moment. "She's certainly talked enough about you."

A shadow of his former grin crept up on his face again. "Well, THAT'S good."

"And she bitched me out for... well, some things I said," added Grissom. He suddenly felt uncomfortable. Like the moment had come. "Listen, Nick..." he went on softly. He removed his glasses, and set them down on his leg. "I... I owe you an apology."

Nick looked up, and indicated himself with his hand. "Me? Why me? You don't owe me nothing."

Grissom blinked prominently. "I wish I didn't. But I do." He returned his glasses to his face. "See, the reason I... was arrested... was because..."

Nick waited patiently while Grissom took a steadying breath.

"I did exactly the same thing that you did, Nick."

Nick's eyes darted in multiple directions before setting on Grissom again.

"I did the exact same thing you did... after I'd spent an entire day, well... criticizing you for what you did."

The realization coming to Nick had as open an effect as everything else had. His eyes fell in the slightest, and his posture sank. "Oh..." was all he said.

Grissom put a hand out. "That's why I know Catherine isn't angry. Not with you, at all. She was just... detached. Trying to do her job. And that's my fault."

Nick patted Grissom's hand on his shoulder twice. When he looked up for a short second, his eyes were glistening. "It's alright, man. I know it wasn't a good move for the PD's rep."

"Yes, but that's not the point, Nick. And I should've known that long before I found myself in the same position." He jutted his lips out. "Or, at least, I should've trusted your judgment," he amended. "Either way... I shouldn't have doubted you." He raised Nick's chin the rest of the way with two fingers. "That's what I'm sorry for, most of all."

Nick considered, but given how quickly, it seemed like he was only pretending. "I forgive ya."

Grissom shook his head slightly. "So quick to it..."

Nick stood up and went to the window. "Well, you know, I figure... what good's it do me to hold onto things? Not that there's certain things I wouldn't remember. You know... if a person wronged me a certain way. But, hell, I'm not in a position to piss off all my friends. And I don't want to, either." He turned, and held his arms out in a don't-give-a-fuck gesture. "I'm just glad to see y'all." He let his arms drop, and looked over and up at the window. "Hope I will more often..."

Grissom folded his arms over his chest. "You will, Nick." He checked his watch. "I have to go for now, but you'll see me again, soon."

"Thanks, man. It means a lot."

"Oh, I know," said Grissom. And he moved for the door. But he stopped when he reached it. "Oh, and make sure the first person you go see when you get out is Sara." And then he looked back over his shoulder. "She's been the most worried, I can personally guarantee you that."

Nick's eyes went downward. "IF I ever get out... I'll be sure to make that a priority."

The temptation to tell went through Grissom in the form of a shiver. "You will, Nicky."

He stopped. His eyes went to the ground... This was it. This was admitting defeat. It was closing one chapter, and hopefully opening another. But seeing to Sara's well-being, at the same time. Seeing to it they both got what he now felt they truly deserved.

"Take good care of her, Nick," he added.

Nick's eyes locked with his, and just stared...

But Grissom merely shrugged. "I know you will."

He then exited the cell entirely. But when he looked back, he saw Nick was grinning. And it made him grin, too.

"See you later," he said.

"See you later," Nick said back.

When the doors closed, Grissom sighed once more. And he addressed the officer, "Can you show me the way out? I'm a little unfamiliar with this part of the PD..."

The officer smiled. "I surely can. Follow me this way..."

* * *

Brass looked up at the sound of Grissom's entry into his office. He shoved the bottle of alcohol back under his desk. He'd probably had enough, anyway...

"Jim, I just had one more question," asked Grissom.

"Yeah," said Brass, as if that didn't matter. "How's Nick?"

"He's good," answered Grissom. "He's why I came, actually. I'm just wondering when he'll be released."

Brass reached into a drawer and withdrew a piece of paper. "These are the polygraph results from Ginger Gracie and Claire." He pointed to a line on it. "Since his name was not only mentioned in the statements, and we've now got it on file as confirmed events..." he flipped the large book in front of him closed, "Nicky's a hero."

Grissom tugged his shirt again. "Good," he exhaled. "Good. Very good."

Brass surveyed Grissom. "Why do you do that?"

"Stress relief."

"Pulling on your shirt helps to relieve your stress?"

"Weird, isn't it?" said Grissom, conversationally. "I noticed that when I was younger."

Brass shrugged. "Well, hey, whatever works."

"Yep." Grissom stopped scratching. "But... I'm glad things are working out Nick. He deserves it."

Brass cocked his head to the side. "Is that so?"

"Yes," said Grissom. "I mean it, Jim. He did the right thing. I'm proud of him."

"Why?" Brass didn't even know why he felt so defensive – Grissom was never THAT far out – but he still felt irresistibly compelled to ask. "Because you figured it out, Gil? Or because you were in the same position, and you did the same thing?"

Grissom considered, lips pointed out. "Why can't it be both?"

Brass felt stunned, and he was sure it showed on his face.

"Or... why can't I see it as a situation in which there was a valuable lesson for me?" He looked out into the hallway. "One that would help me in other ways, too..."

Brass nodded. "That IS a good way to look at it, Gil."

Grissom looked back at him.

"And I hope you keep hold of it, because you really could use it," finished Brass.

"I know," said Grissom. "I just wish it hadn't taken this long..."

"Me, too, pal. Me, too. You really scared me out there."

"Sorry," said Grissom. "I had to do it,"

"Exactly," said Brass. His phone buzzed. "Just like Nick..." He reached for it. "Who, speaking of, is in out-process right now. And freaking out. For the better this time. I just got the text. I'm gonna get ahold of Al. He's been waiting, too. Warrick and Catherine are already there." He flipped the phone shut. "And, I believe..." he eyed Grissom suggestively, "...that a certain someone may be here, looking for you."

Grissom went off without another pause.

Brass just smiled after him. "What happened to that sports car I recommended you get, instead?" he whispered to himself. Then he rose to his own feet...

...and set off at his own pace to see Nick's release.

* * *

The light coming through the windows was minimal now. Sara strolled in the glass hallways freely – her heart was lighter than air, and the weight in her stomach had vanished altogether. She had just found out from Catherine: Nick was going to be free. And he was going to be free soon. She would see him in no more than twenty-four hours. It didn't seem that long a time, in comparison...

Even when she rounded the corner to the main desk, and saw Lady Heather standing there, it didn't dampen her mood in the slightest.

"I'm here to see Gil Grissom," she caught Lady Heather saying.

"Just one moment," responded the receptionist politely.

"Lady Heather!" called out Sara, with a toothy grin in that direction.

Lady Heather looked up, and the smile that spread across her own face seemed honest enough. "Sara," she greeted. "You look better."

"Oh, yes," replied Sara. "I am, much better."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah, me, too." Sara put both hands behind her back. A mannerism she'd picked up from Nick. It made her toothy grin widen to realize that. "I'm glad to hear you came out of everything unscathed. And, you know, alive."

"Well, not totally," said Lady Heather. She held her arms out, and pulled back the sleeves. "Alive, yes... but there's a little damage."

"A few bandages," said Sara dismissively. "Nothing you'll be stuck with forever. That's the important part, right?"

"It is. Next to surviving it, I suppose most would say. I would."

The two women had started walking. Where, they knew not. But they walked.

"Have you seen Grissom yet?" asked Sara.

"No, I was just looking for him. Have you?"

Sara shook her head. "No, I've not. I've heard he's getting out. Turns out he didn't do it."

Lady Heather sighed in relief. "I wondered..."

And then there was another moment of easy silence.

It was a few minutes, it seemed, before Lady Heather broke it again. "And, uh... how is Nick Stokes?"

"Oh, he'll be..." Sara stopped, both talking and walking; ahead, Warrick and Catherine were pacing around at the end of the hallway, "...just fine."

Lady Heather followed her gaze. Sara saw her smiling in her peripheral vision at the scene before her.

"It looks like everyone else is ready for him to be released, too," Lady Heather observed.

Sara nodded weakly. "He's a good friend."

"Perhaps to them, but..." Lady Heather looked over at her, "...I'm guessing there's a little more, in your case?"

Sara deliberated. Truth be told, she hadn't answered the question yet, for herself. Or, if she had... she hadn't been honest with herself about it. All she felt she could comfortably offer Lady Heather in return was a non-committal bob of the head.

"There's something there," she admitted slowly. "Something, but I don't know what, yet."

Lady Heather's hand touched her arm. Sara turned to her.

"In time... you'll figure it out."

Sara nodded, more calmly this time. "That's what I'm hoping."

They began to walk again, slowly, towards the hall where Nicky would surely be coming at any moment.

Finally... Sara decided to risk it. "But, tell me something first?"

"Yes?"

"What about you and... Grissom?"

This was it. Time to see Grissom on his way down the road, bags packed and a destination is mind. Hopefully, Sara was pleased to find that she could honestly say she wanted... the destination being Lady Heather.

But Heather just smiled. "I suppose that's something I'll have to figure out, too. But I think I have an idea..." She blinked, and wrapped her arms around her. "It's been a while, but... we did sleep together, back then. Back when the body was found at the bottom of my foam pool."

Sara halted. Lady Heather watched her, cautiously.

But then, Sara blinked twice.

And that was it. She felt...

...fine.

The realization was...

...nothing.

"Good," she said. "That always helps."

Lady Heather's expression turned upward. "I suppose it frequently can, yes," she agreed.

Sara giggled. "Just, um... do something about that whole 'accusing you of murder afterwards' thing."

And they both laughed with the memory. Although they hadn't been together when it happened, it had been the first thing Sara could imagine that they'd ever agreed on. The biggest show of Grissom's social ineptitude yet. Accusing the woman he'd slept with of murder the next morning...

They resumed walking.

But there was one more question, one more thing she needed to know. "Was it better with... Gil... than it was with Zoe's father."

Lady Heather looked to the floor, and she exhaled. "It definitely was. Frank was... well, he was young. He paid for me, and I did my job for my money. Even then, I ran my own business. I cost the most. And I didn't intend to end up pregnant, of course, but... when I was... When Zoe was born."

She smiled, but there was single tear there.

"Hey..." said Sara.

Conveniently, there was a box of Kleenex on just about every table. And a ton of tables in the waiting areas lining just about every hall. Sara handed her one.

"When she was born, it was easily the best day of my life. When she died, it... was the worst."

Sara looked away. "I can sympathize."

"But not empathize," said Lady Heather. "There's a difference. And be careful: if you ever find out you are with child... I warn you, your entire life will change, in one way or another. And no matter which way, it will be a huge change."

"That's right."

Sara and Lady Heather spun around.

There he was: Grissom. Standing there, looking tired, but also pleased with himself. He and Lady Heather went towards each other. When they reached each other, they embraced, and then kissed.

Sara's face became a wide grin automatically.

While Lady Heather lay her head down on his shoulder, Grissom shrugged towards Sara slightly – a gesture she returned.

"Is Nick out yet?" asked Grissom, a few moments later.

Sara shook her head. "No. We've been waiting. And watching."

"Is that so?" asked Grissom.

His head inclined forward. Lady Heather turned, and there was a smile on her face.

Sara looked confused.

"Turn around, Sara," Grissom instructed simply.

And so she did.

The officer in attendance was the first to appear. Just as it had been when she'd first seen him after he was arrested. But he, himself, didn't appear until a few moments later.

When he did, she froze up. Catherine and Warrick stopped their pacing. Behind her, Grissom and Sara just watched, grinning ear-to-ear, reflecting in the windows...

Nick grinned, and held his arms out, expectantly. Warrick rushed into them first. Sara watched them greeting each other after a long haul as if they hadn't seen each other for twenty years or more. Her lips turned up. Warrick punched Nick in the shoulder, then stepped aside for Catherine.

For a moment, Nick and Catherine just stared at each other. Sara could see Catherine was fighting back tears. When her mouth opened to say something... and Nick scooped her up off her feet... she lost the battle.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, over and over, while they swayed. "I'm so sorry..."

Nick shook his head dismissively, and buried his face in her shoulder. His arms looked like they were going to burst open, holding her up and so tightly. When he set her down, he touched the side of her face, his old, puppy-like grin back in place.

"It's all right," he answered.

Sara was vaguely aware of Greg and Brass passing her, with a somewhat subdued-looking Hodges in tow, and Doc moving as quickly as his legs would carry him towards them.

Nick greeted each one as they approached cheerfully. He hugged Greg and Doc. Shook hands with Brass. Exchanged head bobs with Hodges, much to Sara's amusement. Wendy appeared behind them all, and Nick hugged her, too.

It was then that he looked down the hall, eyebrows furrowed.

And then that they locked eyes with each other.

Around him, everyone followed his gaze in her direction.

She took two steps forward, and she could feel her eyes prickling. Nick waded out of the crowd around him, but he, too, stopped short.

It took Grissom poking Sara and Catherine poking Nick to get them to run, but they did.

The last thing Sara remembered seeing before the world seemed to disappear behind Nick was the receptionist standing up to see what was happening.

It felt like completing a jigsaw puzzle. When Nick's arms closed around her, and hers around him, there was a satisfying... almost audible, she imagined... click in Sara's body.

First they laughed... then they cried... and finally, they collapsed against the wall.

She could feel Nick's hand rubbing the back of her shoulder, and his head rested against the top of hers, where it lay against his chest. She closed her eyes...

She could feel everyone around her watching them. Even Grissom. But she wasn't bothered, in any way. Nick was out. He was free. He wasn't going to prison for the rest of his life, or worse... or in any way being taken from her. The future was uncertain.

_Whatever it holds._

"Want to go for a walk?" he whispered above her.

She nodded her acceptance without a thought.


	8. Promise Me - I Promise

It hadn't been as simple as just leaving PD. By the time everyone had gotten to congratulate him for taking down a serial killer (and shook his hand till his arm started to get sore), Nick felt like he was living in a dream, or something... Good or nightmare, he wasn't sure yet, but that was the only way he could think to describe it.

But when he and Sara finally got out, it felt like hours passed them before they said anything. Nick kept Sara pinned closely against his side with one arm, and Sara kept Nick pinned closely to against her with both. He smiled to himself frequently. They wandered aimlessly as they went wherever they were going. The busy city lights were full swing, as always. The sun was finally going down, at the end of what had seemed like an endless day...

Somewhere near a fountain he didn't recognize, Sara launched into the tale of everything that had happened while he'd been in the slammer. She laughed so casually, but by the end of it, Nick found he might actually have been the lucky one.

_Sure didn't feel like it, though..._ he mused.

He'd been able to sleep, and they'd fed him okay. Sara, it looked like, was approaching God only knew how many hours without sleep. As she came to the end of her story, they stopped to look out over the vista. She put her head down on his shoulder. He squeezed her in a little tighter.

"Greg made friends with the housekeeper, though," finished Sara. "Catherine said he did really good on this case."

Nick took a deep breath. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. Always thought he'd be a great addition to the team."

She lifted her head to grin playfully at him. "You did not."

"Nope," Nick gave in immediately, head shaking. "Nope, I surely didn't." He turned his head to meet her eyes. "Still glad it turned out for him."

"Me, too," said Sara. She returned her head to its original position. "I just hope I don't have to work with him too often."

"Why's that?"

"It would feel too much like babysitting."

"Do you think so?" asked Nick with genuine surprise. "He was good in the lab."

She nodded. "True, but it's much harder being out there."

"I suppose." Absentmindedly, he played with her hair. "I think it adds to the fun, though." And after a few moments, "Doc says he's never going to retire."

"Really? When did he tell you that?"

Nick hesitated. He could tell, even now, the subject of his imprisonment would soon become taboo. "When he came to see me."

It seemed, already, it had. Sara stiffened against him. "He did?"

"Yeah..."

Nick paused, and pressed his lips against the top of her head, fingers still stroking. "He said you weren't doing so well, while I was gone."

Sara paused, as well, but eventually, shook her head. "He was telling the truth."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Sara."

Her head snapped up, and her expression was one of confusion. "Why are YOU sorry?"

"I'm sorry that you had to see all that... I know, it's not easy." He shivered, slightly. "I thought I'd be better prepared for it, if it ever happened, but–"

Two of her fingers silenced him suddenly. "Nick... stop. It wasn't your fault."

"Well, no," he replied, muffled. "But–"

"–'but', nothing." Her eyes hardened, and with her other hand, she pulled his head closer by pushing on the back of his neck. "It wasn't your fault."

Inside, he was partly exasperated. Sara just never understood these kinds of things, did she...?

He pulled her hand away from his mouth. "Sara, listen... It wasn't all that bad. It was shocking, and... yeah, I didn't enjoy it. Let's not do it again anytime soon..."

There was a mild stab of regret in his stomach when her expression changed from one of determination to fear.

He amended. "Well, okay... let's not do it ever again. But, you gotta understand..." He took her hands in each of his, and looked down at them. His left thumb caressed her right knuckles... and he looked back up into her eyes. "I really shoulda kept it together a little more, you know? My team needed me. They was all out there, fighting the good fight. They shouldn't have been worried about me."

She opened her mouth to protest.

"So, from now on," he continued loudly, "...I promise not to put you through things like that."

She leaned back on one foot. The way her eyes were surveying him, it made him feel kind of uncomfortable. She didn't say anything...

And finally, he couldn't take it, anymore. "What?"

With surprising speed and strength, she turned her hands palms-up, and her fingers locked around his wrists. She lifted them up by their eyes. Her thumb traced miniature markings that were still on his wrists. He sighed once more to see her eyes watering.

"You see these?" she demanded, shaky-voiced. "Do you see these, Nicky?" Then she put both of his hands together, held them to her chest, and pressed her forehead into his. "These are there from the handcuffs that were on you. Because you did the right thing."

He looked at his feet sheepishly.

But she pushed up with their hands to force him to look at her again. "I don't ever want to see that again."

His lips trembled. "I'm sorry..." he repeated in a whisper. "I'm sorry, I just– I couldn't let her die."

"I'm not concerned about her. I'm concerned about you. And you've got to stay with me, Nicky."

He could feel his composure slipping. He looked away...

"Promise me: you'll do everything you can. Whatever it takes."

He looked back. "Yeah," he said after a moment.

"Promise me, Nicky," she insisted.

"I promise you, Sara." He lifted his right hand, like he was swearing in court. "Everything I can. Whatever it takes."

She melted into his arms, then. And while he held her to him, her hands gripped the front of his shirt.

"Ms. Sidle?"

They both spun to their side.

Looking at them was a woman and a man. Nick was confused, but Sara left him to go to them.

"Gina!" she greeted, surprised. "Harry!"

To his further confusion, Sara and the woman named Gina hugged each other.

"We were just on our way home," chimed in the man. "We thought we'd... stop and see how Mr. Stokes was."

The usage of his name connected the wires in Nicky's brain.

"We got the call from Captain Brass," said Gina. "We hear he's out."

Sara giggled, and then pointed to Nick behind her, where he was scratching the back of his head, nervously.

Gina followed her indication, and her mouth fell open when her eyes landed on Nick. "Oh..."

Nick raised a weak hand. "Hi, there. I'm Nick Stokes..."

Sara released Gina and stepped back. Both Harry and Gina came up to him slowly.

Then, Gina held a tentative hand out. Nick looked at it, and then shook it. Next, Harry.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you, so much, for the risk you took for me. For us..."

"Thank you, Mr. Stokes."

"No problem," replied Nick, automatically. He caught sight of Sara raising her eyebrows and looking away in the corner of his vision. _Oh, you know what I mean._

"We, uh... we have something for you. A gift. A way of saying 'thanks'."

She held up an orange piece of paper, folded in half. Nick accepted it with a smile, and opened it. He was painfully aware of Sara observing him for his reaction.

When he saw it in full, he there was a sharp stabbing in his chest with the break he took in.

It was beautiful... He looked it up and down several times...

But finally, he raised his head again, and folded it in half.

"Thank you," he sobbed once. "I'll keep it with me. Always."

Sara's face split into a wide and always-toothy grin.

Gina hugged Nick, once and for a brief moment, then pulled back. Nick shook hands with Harry again.

"Thank you, much, sir," he added.

Harry patted his shoulder once. "Thank YOU."

As they stepped back, Sara stepped forward, and retook her place beside him.

"Well, it looks like you two are busy, so... we'll let you go," said Gina.

"Oh. Yeah, we're kind of... enjoying his first night out," replied Sara.

"Yeah," affirmed Nick. "But, hey, come see us, sometime. We're almost always down at the LVPD. We could all go to dinner together, or something."

Gina and Harry exchanged smiles. "We'd like that," she said.

"You two have fun," said Harry. "Get your rest, Mr. Stokes."

"Nick. Mr. Stoke is my father."

"Your father's technically the Honorable Judge Stokes..." interjected Sara playfully.

He cocked his head to the side and jutted his lips out in mock thoughtfulness. "Well, yeah... I suppose, if you want to get all technical."

The four of them laughed, and when they were done, Gina and Harry continued on their way with waves.

As did Nick and Sara, his card clutched tightly in one hand. He knew he'd be able to live up to his promise to Sara much easier, now. The little piece of construction paper would be his always-helpful reminder.

They came to a bench a few minutes later, where Nick suddenly felt a pain in his leg.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed.

Sara jumped. "What?" she asked, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Oh..." Nick limped to the edge of the bench and sat down on it. "Sorry, pain in my leg. I rolled off the bed in the holding cell..."

"What? How did you manage to do that?"

He shrugged. "I just fell asleep, and I woke up when my leg suddenly hurt."

She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. "Nicky..." she scolded.

"What?" he answered defensively. "Those beds are small."

"Oh, yeah," she pretended to admit.

A build-up of laughter replaced his stoney seriousness. "Too small to be comfortable in."

But she wasn't biting. "Why didn't you try curling up? Or lying on your stomach, or something?"

"I did. That's how I fell on it. I was curled up tighter than a hedgehog." Thinking about it reminded him he also had a stiff neck... "My whole body's tense, actually..."

She touched it, carefully. "Why didn't you tell me all this before we came walking out here, hours from our cars?"

"Our cars are at PD," Nick pointed out. "We can take a taxi, I've got a few bucks."

Sara blinked. "Wait... that's good, because I left my money back at PD, too..."

For some reason, this caused Nick to burst out into laughter. He leaned back against the bench and held his stomach.

"Oh..." She hit him halfheartedly on the arm. "That's right, keep laughing, big boy..."

"I'm-I'm– I'm sorry, Sara. It's just... that's so like you."

"It is not," she argued.

"Oh, no, of course not." Nick raised his hands in surrender. "Never."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, okay. Maybe I've done it two or three–"

"–hundred–"

"–times, but–" Then his interjection caught up with her, and she glared at him. "Very funny, Nick Stokes."

"Aw, come on, now." He pulled her back over to him and left a kiss on her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"It's not funny."

"You're right."

"It wasn't funny."

"Surely wasn't."

She was giggling. "Don't ever do it again."

So was he. "I'll try my best."

When they stopped, she put her head down on his chest.

And they stayed like that. For another unknown, untraced, and unremembered period of time, they stayed just as they were. Nick resumed his stroking of her hair. She kept her fingers gripped tightly on her fist full of his shirt. The sun was almost completely set, now...

"I, um... I had a chat with Grissom."

Nick hesitated. Grissom was the last person he really wanted to hear about, at the moment. "Yeah?" he replied anyway.

He could feel her tensing up. "Yeah. I was... talking to him about Lady Heather." From above her, he could still see her eyelids flutter when his fingertips brushed across a particular spot on the back of her head. "He asked me about our walks."

"Yeah, funny story... Doc Robbins asked me, too."

At this, she sat up. "Oh?"

"Yeah. He told me you showed him a picture?"

She looked at her fingernails. "I did."

Using his thumb and forefinger, he turned her vision back to him. "I didn't know you had one."

While she reached into her pocket, he reached into his.

They presented each other with the same picture.

Their fingertips connected, and Nick stared in Sara's eyes, while she stared right back.

"What did Grissom say?" he asked, softly.

"He, uh... he asked me why I was so broken up about this whole thing."

There was nothing but her. For the moment, everything around him seemed to either fade or put greater emphasis on her. Nick's hand raised itself to the side of her warm face... "Yeah?"

"Yeah..." She brought her hand up to rest her palms on his chest. Her other still held his shirt.

He began to pet her cheek. "And?"

"I told him about the night we went star watching."

He couldn't resist smiling a little at that. "Yes?"

"Yes," she repeated. "He called it 'romantic'. Kinda pissed me off..."

His smile grew wider. "Is that so?"

She wasn't resisting the gentle pressure he was putting on the back of her neck. Bringing her in to him. Her lips were moving closer to his, inch by inch, every second. Her arms were beginning to snake around his chest.

"Yes. He wasn't getting it."

"Mmm." He twisted his head to the side.

"He never gets it." So did she.

"Never..." he whispered.

With one more stroke to the side of her face, their lips at last connected.

The taste of her set his chest ablaze. He wrapped his arms up around her body, and was pleased that she joined his efforts in pulling her into his lap entirely. He leaned back, bringing her with him till his arms were setting loosely around her waist, while each of her legs surrounded him. Their lips meshed seamlessly, over and over again... and in that moment, it was Nick's unwitting and unknowing turn to feel like the last of a jigsaw puzzle piece, clicking into place.

Straight out of the box he felt that he'd only just now escaped... even though he'd been in prison all day, and gotten out a few hours ago... Nick had always known where he belonged. Where he wanted to be. And that was exactly where he was, now.

They probably would never have separated. But a gust of wind blew around them so fiercely that she shivered, and ducked down against his body.

And he closed his eyes, and did his best to shield her from the wind with his arms. He moved his fingers along the edges of her face, where it lay against his neck. With his other hand, he caressed the small of her back.

It took another burst of chilling wind to get her to say that she was ready for that taxi.

When they stood up, Nick immediately pulled her back up against him – he didn't want to take her home, and then have to leave her, to separate from her...

But he still hailed the cab. Still told the driver to take them to her place. Still opened the door for her when they got there.

She leaned down and spoke into the backseat. "Thank you, Nick." And she reached out to touch his chin. "For everything."

"You're welcome," he said back, and then he took her hand. "Thank you for not giving up on me, Sara Sidle. It means a lot."

He kissed her fingers, and she smiled, and began to retreat. He pulled the door shut, and turned his head stoically forward.

"That's one hell of a woman," commented the cab driver. "You're a lucky man, there, uh... Nick, is it?"

"That's right. On all three counts..."

But as the cab started to pull away, there was a sudden knock on the window.

Nick looked over to see it was Sara. Her grin was back, full force. From the front seat, the driver rolled the window down.

"Nick...?" she tried.

"Yes...?"

She fidgeted, her fingers on one hand clamped tightly around the other. "Stay with me tonight?"

It took just a moment for the realization to sink in. But when it did, Nick clambered out of the back seat to join her on the sidewalk. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

This time, when he kissed her, it was softer, and sweeter.

"That's good," he joked, afterwards. Something had just occurred to him. He pulled his wallet out and opened it. "All I got is a twenty."

"What a coincidence," said the cab driver. "This is a $19.99 ride."

Nick held the bill out between two fingers, never taking his eyes off Sara. "Keep the penny."

"Will do. Every little bit helps. You folks take care, now!"

The sounds of the cab driving away were muffled, lost to his ears while he followed Sara up the steps.

"Try to be careful with me, big boy," she said, smiling widely, before they entered. The key turned, and the door opened. She flicked a light switch on without taking her eyes off him. "It's been a while."

He flicked his eyebrows once. "I'll be chivalrous as a king."

He walked into her outstretched arms, lifting her off the ground, kissing her neck, and kicking the door closed behind him.

Sara's fingers twisted the lock closed. "You do that," she said blissfully, as he crossed the room with her in his arms.

And they fell together, arms wrapped around each other, onto her couch. Where the rest of the celebration... and eventually, the much-needed rest... finally took place.

* * *

**I'll probably write more _CSI_ stories, so I guess I should get it out of the way right now that I'm not a fan of Sara and Grissom together. I think they're both great characters on their own (although I prefer Sara to Grissom), but I've just never been into the idea of them having a romance. Not even when I only used to catch sight of the show every once in a while.**

**The creepy "pin me down" scene from _Invisible Evidence_ really didn't help... or the fact that one can't put either Sara or Grissom's names in any search engine on the internet without an image or a reference of some kind from that scene appearing in some way.**

**I'm not going to say I'll never write a story where they're involved with each other. But I'd likely use it as drama fuel or background. I mean no offense to anyone who does like them in a relationship with each other. And I apologize to one of my reviewers from the first part of this story, who was hoping for a Sara and Grissom ending. I appreciate that you cared about my story enough to have your own hopes for its outcome – it means a lot to me. :)**

**This is just how I feel about it. From me, you could probably expect a lot of Nick and Sara. There may or may not be other couples, I don't know yet.**

**That said, I hope everyone either enjoyed the story, or at least one part of it, either the case or the character drama. And thank you, especially, to JennaTN, for your kind reviews.**

**No idea what type of thing I'll do next, or when. Thank you for reading, everybody. :D**


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